


Only to One

by YIWT



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 59,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIWT/pseuds/YIWT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Loki one-shots that take place during or after TTDW.</p><p>(Guest appearance by Natasha Romanoff in chapters 35&39).<br/>(Guest appearance by Tony Stark in chapters 46&47).<br/>(Guest appearance by Scarlet  Witch in chapter 49).<br/>(Guest appearance by Spiderman in Chapter 50).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frigga Feelz

A/N: Loki in his cell. Frigga feelz abound.

* * *

"Mother?" Loki waited. No response. " _Mother_ ," he called, sharper. "Mother, please come back. Please!" He layered his voice with as much anguish as he could, and there was still no reply.

He heaved a sigh and relaxed. She was gone, then - really gone. With the projections, it was hard to tell. Sometimes she sent him her disembodied voice only; it was less taxing for her to just hold conversations with him than to actually send an illusion of herself.

He preferred the illusions, though, because otherwise he felt like a mad person, talking out loud to people no one could see. But he  _was_ mad. He knew that.

When he was sure that he was truly alone, he cast a projection of his own. Frigga, exactly as she had looked a moment ago. Facing away from him, as if about to leave the cell. "Mother – wait," he said. His voice was a little unsteady, but it didn't matter – there was no one to hear.

The illusion paused. Raised its head to listen.

"You've been patient with me," he said to her back. "But I need your patience a while longer."

The illusion did not turn to face him. It sighed.

"I don't know how long," he went on. "It might be a long time." It could be a  _very_  long time, but maybe, eventually, it was possible his rage might burn out and he might want to return. He had recurring nightmares about being  _just_ too late. About finally feeling ready to be a son to Frigga again,  _just_ when she gave up on him and stopped coming.

"You'll never wear out my patience, Loki. Not for this." It was good to hear – even if it wasn't real. He waved his hand and the illusion melted away.

It was strange, though. He had never been able to cast illusions of her voice before.

* * *

The End.

Let me know what you think! I have at least six plot bunnies running around after seeing the movie last night, so hopefully I'll get some more up this weekend.


	2. Frigga & Thor

A/N: Ok, so this one's Loki-centric but doesn't actually have Loki in it. Sorry. Next time!

* * *

"Thor?" Frigga looked surprised to see him sitting alone in the dark.

"The stars are beautiful tonight," he said. It was his planned explanation for why he was out on the balcony by himself, sober, while the party was going on downstairs.

"Thor, it's raining." She came and sat down next to him. "Why aren't you down with your men?"

"It is not seemly for the king to become drunk amongst his warriors." That was what Father had always told him, back when he used to do it.

She sighed. And waited.

Eventually he could not bear the silence any longer, and admitted: "I have grown unaccustomed to revelry."

"I see."

"After Loki fell..."

"You felt disloyal rejoicing in his defeat," Frigga finished for him. "I remember."

"Yes. And then, ever afterward, his absence saddened me. I did not feel like rejoicing."

She laid a hand on his arm and there, in the dark, he felt able to speak steadily. "All I could wish for, so many times, was just one more night with Loki by my side." His voice was thickening as he said it, remembering sitting by a fire together, Loki laughing as he conjured a wound closed. "I would have traded all the parties in the Nine for it."

Suddenly, Frigga was crisp and exasperated. "Thor, Loki is right downstairs."

Thor scowled. "He is not. My brother is gone."

"Your brother is in this very palace," she argued, "And he needs you. How would  _you_ feel if everyone had turned their back on  _you_  when you did wrong?"

Thor sat in mutinous silence for a moment, but he was not quite as stubborn as he used to be. He was trying. "Loki and I are not speaking," he admitted. "There is too much anger between us. Anger and pride."

"The two of you have built up a fine, strong wall." He could hear her wry smile. "I would expect no less of Odin's sons."

He snorted.

"But, Thor... of the two of you... who do you think is better able right now to break it down?" He stared out at the (cloudy) sky, and tried not to feel small and scolded. He had not done anything wrong! "Shh," Frigga said, as if reading his mind. "You have set such a wonderful example lately, in so many ways. I am so proud of you for how you've led and what you've done. But you need to do it once more."

Thor considered. "I think I would rather face another army of rock-people than face my brother."

Frigga's laugh was gentle. "The rock-people are simpler," she agreed, "And more easily disarmed." She stood up and bent over him to kiss him on the head. "But fortunately my son never shies from a challenge. Go down to your brother."

* * *

The End. I sorta think that Loki was sleeping (or pretending to) when he went down, and the moment passed, and he didn't try to visit again. :o(


	3. Mean Loki on his Deathbed

A/N: I kinda think Loki's apologizing to Thor was suspicious. I mean, I think if he were  _really_ dying, he would have been a jerk. He really is mean enough to punish someone from his deathbed. So….

* * *

Time stopped and Thor hardly even noticed the creature sucked back into nothingness. He was too busy staring at Loki, watching for some indication that all was well, that the blade hadn't  _really_ pierced him through, that he wasn't  _really_ falling to the same weapon that had killed Mother.

The moment he could, he scrambled to his feet and rushed over. "Loki, no. No, no, no."

" _Ah-_  no," Loki gasped. "Get off." Harsh and breathy – not a very encouraging tone of voice.

Thor shifted his grip; if something he was doing was paining Loki worse he would cradle him in a different way. "Better?"

Loki's head turned so that they were looking at one another straight on. "Let go of me," Loki whispered clearly. "You said you- didn't want- to be a brother to me anymore." His speech was halting, strange hitches and pauses, as he forced the words out a few at a time.

Thor froze.

"I don't blame you," Loki went on. Laughed – a terrible sound. "I wouldn't want a- frost giant- for a brother either."

"Loki- Loki, no, please, please you must-"

" _Hshh._ " The hissing sound was enough to shut Thor up; his throat was really too thick to speak clearly anyway. "You made your position clear. Fine. I've accepted it. But you can't have my love now. Leave me."

Thor began again to plead with him, but this time was drowned out by a groan of pain as Loki tried to shift position. "Loki- brother please, lie still."

"Leave me." He was laughing again – quiet and dry, but unimaginably bitter. "I'll die alone. As was- always intended." He surged once, dragging himself over onto his side. Facing away. Still chuckling. "Odin- should be pleased."

"Loki, no. Don't- don't  _say_  that-…" Thor pulled him into his lap, as gently as he could, and turned him back onto his back. "Loki?"

There was no answer. Loki's face was slack, his body limp dead weight. "No- no, no, no." Thor shook him. "Loki?  _Loki!_ "

There was still no answer.

* * *

The End.

Sorry, sorry, sorry!


	4. Jane

A/N: Loki & Jane, post-"death".

* * *

Loki lay still. He could hear Thor weeping and carrying on, and the mortal woman trying to comfort him. And then arguing with him.

He was on his side and they were at his back, so Loki dared a breath. He was wearing the strongest illusion he could cast, but he did not want to strain it by moving – he was weak and weakening, and if he did not work some healing soon, before long he would die for true.

 _Leave. Leave, you fools, I'm running out of time!_  He willed them to remember that  _they_ were running out of time as well, that they had to hurry before the Dark Elf finished his work of erasing all creation. Surely that was more important to them than this stupid lovers' quarrel?

He listened a little more carefully. "You can give me thirty seconds!" The woman's voice was high and agitated. "I don't  _know_ it will work. I don't even  _think_ it will work. But I can't rule it out. Okay? After everything I've seen today, I can't rule out that there's  _some_ powerful nonhuman entity out there that communicates with humans. It might be some, some rogue elf or giant or  _something,_ I don't know, but it could be there. And if it is, then the Convergence is the time most likely of  _any time ever_  when it's able to hear the words coming out of my mouth. If  _you_ can sit there and scream for five minutes you can give me thirty seconds for this. It costs us nothing and we might as well."

"Jane-…"

"I'm not leaving until you let me."

"Very well." Thor's voice was clogged and sullen. "Thirty seconds."

"Fine. Good. Thank you."

The woman was coming closer. Loki had heard the argument but he was so groggy he did not yet know what she was planning to do. Whatever it was had better be quick – he was fading fast, and he knew that if he slipped away now he would not wake up.

The crunch of gravel told him that she was sitting down beside him. No – not sitting. Kneeling.

" _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done-_ "

She was chanting. No – not chanting.  _Praying._

She finished what she was saying, took a breath, and then started again. " _Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee…"_

The chants were brief, at least. Afterwards she started talking to herself. "I can't believe I just added a CC line to a prayer. But I might as well try everything, right? Right. Here goes." Her voice rose just a little. He could hear that her face was tilted up, away from him. Good – if she was paying attention to her sky-god she would not notice if his glamour slipped.

"God, whatever or whoever you are, if you're listening, you probably won't remember me. I haven't prayed since I was a little kid. But. I just wanted to say a few words now, for Loki, a- an Asgardian-slash-frost-giant who just died a couple of minutes ago."

Oho, she was going to intercede with her god for him? This should be good! (And the surprise, and amusement, would help keep him awake a little while longer. Excellent.)

"He did some horrible things, but he also just saved my life, more than once I think, and sacrificed himself for his brother. And the universe, really. So. If you're taking requests, then please, um, consider this a petition from me for Loki. Be kind to him." She snorted. "And FYI, Hell's actually probably not a very safe place for him right now, considering he just sent a bunch of really bad guys there and they're probably pissed. Okay. Bye. Uh, amen."

Oddly, though the woman was ridiculous Loki had no wish to ridicule her. He had been prayed to enough himself to know sincerity when he heard it. If he did escape this, and survive, he would do something generous for her in return.

…Of course, if she did not hurry up and leave him in peace, he would probably not survive at all.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, now in his direction. "Goodbye, Loki."

He focused everything he had on his illusion and it held until she and Thor had stood and moved away.

* * *

The End.

What do you think? I don't remember anything in canon about Jane's religion, but I'm assuming lapsed christian of some sort is as likely as anything else.


	5. Loki is Alive

A/N: Post-movie.

* * *

Odin broke the silence. "Well, well. After half a year  _my son_ has returned. And requested a private audience with  _his king._  May I know the occasion?"

Thor flinched. It appeared he had learned to recognize sarcasm, then. Impressive.

"I- am sorry I stayed away." Thor looked down. "The thought of Asgard – of home – was very painful for me."

"Mmm." Odin tapped his fingers against the arm of his throne. He had long since mastered the urge to throw a leg up over it; it was not dignified. But finger-tapping was a very unsatisfying way to fidget. "And has the pain lessened over time? Is that why you've finally come?"

Thor shook his head. "Father. Loki is alive."

Odin blinked. Sat up straighter. "Impossible." Even the name sounded strange; it had not been spoken here in months. Most said  _the foundling_  or  _the traitor_  when they wished to refer to him. Those of the view that his heroic death had wiped away the stain of his crimes might call him  _Thor's brother._ But never by name. Odin had forbidden it.

" _Not_ impossible," Thor argued. "I know it. I know it for fact. Look." He approached the stairs, and on a nod and impatient gesture, climbed them. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a carefully-folded sheet of Midgard paper. "He has sent me an email. It's a- a Midgard way of writing letters."

Odin frowned and snatched the paper. Blinked. (Focusing his eye to read still gave him a headache. He had thought long and hard about keeping both his eyes and trusting in the glamour to conceal the truth, but the risk was too great. This way, his squinting was consistent and genuine. If he changed his mind someday, he would probably be able to grow the eye back. Odin – the original Odin – had never quite managed, but he'd left good records of his attempts, and with just a little more refinement, one or two of the spells were very promising.)

**From: Loki, Loki**  
 **To: Foster, Jane**  
 **Subject: message for Thor**

**Dear Miss Foster,**  
 **Please let my brother know that I am alive, but in hiding. I will not be returning and it would be futile to look for me. Convey my apologies for my cruelty during some of our more recent meetings. Tell him I know he didn't toss me. I wish him well.**  
 **Sincerely,**  
 **Loki**

Odin chewed over the message. "It does not bear his seal," he pointed out at last.

"Emails don't come with seals. But it is from Loki – it  _is,_ " Thor insisted. "I told no one what he said to me."

"Which was what?" He wanted to hear it.

Thor, apparently, did not wish to repeat it. "It was… cruel. As he says."

"So I gathered. But you did not answer my question, Thor. What was it?"

Thor rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. "On Midgard… when first we reunited after his fall... he accused me of having tossed him into the abyss myself."

"Ah. I see."

"I repeated the comment to  _no one_ ," Thor said with certainty. "Which means that Loki is alive. No one else could know about it."

 _Except, of course, a mortal with whom I apparently shared more of my thoughts than I intended._  Odin nodded absently. He was going to kill Selvig for this. (It  _was_ Selvig, and not Barton. Selvig was the curious one, always trying to listen closer, hear more. Barton took his orders and never looked deeper.)

Odin pocketed the email. "I will have this investigated," he said. "You have my word. And in the meantime: Thor, I  _forbid_ you to seek him out. If indeed he is alive, no good can come of it."

"No good?  _He is my brother._ "

So,  _now_ he wanted brotherhood again! How satisfying! Especially since he was not going to get it. "He is a criminal," Odin countered. "If he is found he will be treated as such."

That gave Thor pause. "But-... but I cannot let this go unacknowledged," he argued. "Loki has  _apologized_ to me. I have to, to see him again. To embrace him, to tell him that-"

"Enough," Odin said sharply. If he didn't cut Thor off soon, someone might cry. "There is nothing to tell."

"But there  _is._ " Thor chewed on his lip. "I told him-..." His gaze was flat and accusing. "My last words to him were about  _you._  Because I thought that was what he would care most to hear. I didn't even get to say my own farewell to him."

"Then say it now." Odin sat back in his throne. "Write to him, as he has written to you, and then let the matter drop. It will be for the best – for him  _and_ for you."

* * *

Loki knocked at the door politely. He heard stomping. "I swear, if you forget your keys one more time-" and then the door swung open.

Jane froze. "Oh my god."

Loki grinned and ducked his head in greeting. "How nice to be remembered." And he would be – he was wearing his old form again, the form he'd grown up in, with its sharp smile and black hair. He found he had missed it – he'd become used to living as Odin and no longer paused at mirrors, but still, slipping into this shape again had been a joy. Even if he knew it could be only temporary.

"Oh- oh, shit. Shit. Shit!" The girl's voice was rising.

"Hush. I offer you no harm, Jane Foster. May I come in?"

Her eyelashes fluttered. (They  _were_ pretty eyelashes.) He was impressed at how quickly she managed to regroup; she seemed halfway back to coherent again within a couple of seconds. "Do you need, like, an invitation?"

For a moment the comment made no sense, but he had watched quite a lot of Midgard television in prison and after a moment he puzzled it out. He opened his mouth to show off a pair of spectacular fangs.

"Oh my god!"

Loki vanished the fangs with a laugh. "No invitation necessary, Miss Foster." He pushed past her without waiting longer; he did not want to drag the visit out and risk Thor coming home.

Jane followed him down the hall into the apartment. "Yeah, sure. You're welcome to come in," she invited – an edge in her voice.

"Sorry. Didn't seem prudent to stand lurking in the corridor. I  _am_ in hiding," he explained. "As my note to my brother apparently said."

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that." She had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I didn't know. I wouldn't have impersonated you if I knew. I, uh, I did try to make the note as plain and non-sappy as possible. I thought that's how you would have wanted it?"

He gave her a smile again, but this time a toothy one to make her nervous. "You ascribe coldness to me and claim it's out of respect. That's very interesting."

She took a breath and held it. "Look, just tell me what you want," she said at last. "I'm sorry I pretended to be you, okay, but Thor was  _miserable._  He was really grieving. I thought he'd rather think you were alive somewhere." Then she scowled. "Since you  _are_ alive, actually, can I just put on the record that that was a really dick move. That's twice, now, you let your brother go on thinking you were  _dead_ when you're not. You really screwed him up."

Loki let a moment go by. "Is there anything else you'd like to say, mortal?" he asked. Quiet and menacing.

"Sorry. Um, no. Actually yes. What happened to your eye?"

He knew he should not have appeared in an eyepatch. But he hadn't yet had time to learn to regrow the eye, and the idea of a glamour had been unappealing after he'd spent so many months living under one. "Sorcery accident," he tossed off.

She smiled, and reached up to poke him in the chest. "You've been passing yourself off as Odin, haven't you."

Loki's stomach knotted. He had not anticipated that… though in retrospect, it was completely obvious.  _What had he been thinking, to come and let Thor's mortal guess where he was?_  Now he was going to have to kill her. He could not risk otherwise.

"Hey, I'm not going to  _tell_ on you," she volunteered. Apparently his horror was showing on his face. "Thor said things have been going great at home – that after the close call with the Convergence, Odin's a little less of a tyrant and his rule is better than ever."

Loki felt his eyebrows rising. "He said  _tyrant_?"

"No no, of course not." She laughed. "He had a much politer way of explaining Odin's usual M.O.  _Tyrant_ is my word."

"Ah. No love lost between you and the Allfather?" Perhaps he would not kill her after all.

She crossed her arms. "He said that Thor bringing me to Asgard was like bringing a goat to a banquet table."

He was surprised into a laugh, but he couldn't help pointing out: "Well, it is."

"Well okay, but that doesn't make it not rude to say to my face!"

He conceded the point with a bow.

Just then, he heard the outside front door clanging. There was a heavy tread on the stairs. "Could that be Thor?"

She looked at her watch. "Maybe."

No time to kill her and make it look like an accident. Very well. He would have to trust. "Thor  _cannot_  know about this," he said. She nodded agreement, but he wasn't satisfied. "If you tell him where I am, he'll leave you to come oust me."

She rolled her eyes. "No, he'd leave me to go  _live_  with you, but that's not something I want either. I  _said_  I won't tell. On one condition."

He winced. Conditions. "Name it."

"You have to promise to come visit him sometime. He's shattered, Loki. All he wants is for you to come give him a hug or something. You can at least do  _that_ , can't you?"

He considered. "Perhaps. On one condition."

She matched his wince. "Name it?"

"That message you sent him. If there is a response, it belongs to me and I want to see what it says."

She sighed. "He's been trying to write something, but he keeps getting upset and starting over."

There were keys fumbling at the door. He conjured a slip of paper with words already upon it. " _This_  is my email address," he whispered. "If Thor responds, forward it. And I will consider appearing to him."

"Consider? That's not now  _conditions_  work."

Loki flashed her a grin and drew the glamour on again. It was almost effortless after all these months. "Silence, goat."

She put her hand over her mouth and he could see she was smiling beneath it. The apartment door was opening. He vanished just in time.

* * *

The End.

Let me know what you think! I'm sort of considering continuing this one.


	6. Loki & Jane during battle

A/N: So, after Malekith gets the aether, while Thor is flying all around chasing him and fighting Big Tusky Elf, Loki is left alone with the rest of the elves  _and Jane to look after._  I'm sure  _that_ wasn't stressful at all!

* * *

"Get behind me!" Loki barked. He didn't take his eyes off the elves. There were three- no, four of them marching in his direction.

"Wh-what do I do?" Jane stammered. From behind him, at least.

" _Stay_  behind me. If we move, keep me between you and them," he said without looking at her. He was busy weaving spells. Teeing them up, really, priming himself to fire off three or four in succession. That was really the most he could safely conjure in advance.

"Is there… anything I can  _do_? To help?"

The elves had started to run. He hurled a blast of magic to slow a few of them; if they arrived in waves he would have a better chance than if they all mobbed him at once.

"Loki…" she fretted. He could hear her terror. Didn't blame her.

"Watch my back." Another blast, making them veer a little, forcing them to approach him from downwind. They were already firing, and the swirling dust clouds would give him some cover. Hopefully interfere with the shooting, make him a little harder of a target.

"But, but I don't have a weapon. And I don't know how to fight!"

"I said  _watch_ ," he growled between castings. "If you see something coming, say so. I don't want to be snuck up on."

He spoke as low and smooth as he could, made sure he didn't sound like he was panicking. Hopefully, calm would be contagious.

"Okay. Okay. Okay, I can do that," she was saying, mostly to herself. "Loki-… Be careful."

He didn't answer – he had no more time for Jane. He hoped she remembered to do what he'd told her, or Thor would be picking up her pieces and then carving  _him_  into pieces to match.

But he had no more time to worry about that either. They were close enough, now. He sent magic at them that was meant to kill, and it sheared through one elf's armor as Loki threw himself at the other elf – elves – and the fight was  _on_.

* * *

The End.


	7. Directions to Mr. Tusky-Face

A/N: While Jane snoozes during the little flying-boat trip, Loki addresses something that's been bothering him.

* * *

Jane slept. Thor sat at the helm watching over her… and also, watching to be sure that Loki was keeping them on course. He had not yet ruled out the possibility that Loki might deliberately fly the craft into a rock and kill everyone.

"Thor." Loki's voice, from behind him. Soft.

"Yes?" He didn't turn to look – it was safer that way. The less he engaged Loki, the better.

"Will you really kill me, if I deserve it?"

He couldn't place the tone. It was not doubting, it was not reproachful. Rather, he heard almost… hope. "Yes, I will."

A moment passed. "Thor, how did the creature get to Mother's room? What-… what path did it take? Which hallways?"

"What path did it take? How does that matter?"

"Because- because you promised me vengeance," Loki sputtered. "Killing in ignorance is not vengeance at all; I need to know what happened. Tell me."

That was fair enough. "It went up from the dungeons and disabled the shield. Then it stalked the halls a while, killing everything in its path. Once Malekith landed, it met with him outside the great hall and they proceeded together. Up to Mother's room."

He heard Loki let out a breath. "It didn't-… it did not take the south staircase?"

"The south staircase? No. Why?"

He heard breathing again – almost panting. It was a while before Loki spoke again. "Ah… no reason. It's nothing."

Thor had no idea what he was thinking, but in any event it was probably something mad. He did not ask.

* * *

The End.

It's a reasonable fear. I mean, he  _did_ give Mr. Tusky-Face directions.


	8. Heimdall is Stubborn

**A/N: Post-movie. What happens to Heimdall?**

* * *

Odin stopped just before the cell. "I will speak to the prisoner alone. Leave us," he said to the guards, and they bowed and vanished. Once they had privacy, he raised his voice and barked: "Heimdall."

The Guardian had been asleep, but the command roused him at once and he was out of bed instantly. "My king," he said, rising from the cot, blinking in the light, clapping a fist to his chest. Going down to his knee. Head bowed.

"There's no need for that," Odin said, more quietly. "Rise, Heimdall. I would speak with you."

Heimdall stood. He blinked the last of the sleep from his golden eyes and tried,  _tried_ to see through the enchantments that had been layered on him.

His gifts had been dampened, by those spells and by the dungeon wards themselves. But still he knew. " _Loki_."

* * *

Loki sent just an illusion of himself into the cell. First, because it was immense hassle to have the warded wall opened, and second, because he was not sure he could bear to step inside it again even if he wanted to.

It was strange enough sending a projection of himself (his  _real_  self… or at least, the one he would have  _thought_ was real until he learned it's not even the correct  _species_ ), watching it step delicately around the furniture. "This was my room," the projection said softly. "You should move the bed; there's always a draft on that side." With a little further effort he could see through the projection's eyes, speak through its mouth… all the while keeping the cell obscured to any who might try to see or hear. He was powerful. Heimdall would do well to remember that.

"You are not my king, Loki. Why have you come?" Heimdall crossed his arms over his chest – his  _bare_ chest, Loki noticed for the first time. He was bootless as well, wearing nothing but his leather trousers. Loki was not certain he had ever before seen Heimdall without his armor.

"Where are your clothes?"

No answer.

Loki sighed, and said as gently as he could: "Like it or not, Heimdall, I  _am_  your king and you will answer me when I speak to you. More to the point, I'm your only hope of getting out of here. Let's try that again, shall we?  _Where. Are. Your. Clothes?_ "

Heimdall's eyes did not waver. "I was taken to the dungeons directly from my post. My armor was stripped from me."

"And nothing else was brought? I'll have that remedied straight away. This is ridiculous."

The friendly gesture seemed to make no impression at all; Heimdall did not answer or move. Was he even blinking? Loki didn't think so.

"Heimdall… I wanted to talk to you."

"You are not my king."

Loki gave a brittle smile. "I know you're a man of few words, but I really hope you can do better than just repeat the same few over and over." He squared up and  _refused_ to be intimidated by a half-naked prisoner. "I am the  _only_  king available to Asgard at this time and I am doing a damn good job."

"Where is Odin?"

"Odin is asleep." He put a hand over his heart. "Poor thing, he startles so easily these days."

"And Thor?"

"Thor declined the throne when it was offered him. Surely you've heard  _that_ much gossip at least. I know the guards talk."

Heimdall had been here only three weeks, but Loki was sure he was bored enough by now to have begun eavesdropping. There really was nothing else to do.

"Why have you come?"

Loki scowled. "Sit. I won't have you towering over me if that's the face you're going to make." It wasn't a  _face_ , exactly, but Heimdall's attitude was hostile and unpleasant. The least he could do was sit down.

At first Heimdall didn't move. "You might want to remember," Loki added, "That you haven't yet been sentenced for your crime and it's within my power to do anything from release to you to execute you on the spot. If I think you won't keep my secrets, I can have your tongue torn out. Please let's not go that route, hm?"

Heimdall sat – still without a word.

"Good. Better. Now: let us negotiate."

Silence.

"I need you. Asgard needs you. But I cannot have you out working against me. So, I need you to swear loyalty to me, and mean it, and then I will let you out of this cell."

Heimdall wet his lips, and Loki waited. At last: "This I will not do."

Loki blinked. "Well. At least you're honest." He stepped away. "I'll return in, say, a month? And see if you've changed your mind."

He vanished the illusion and sighed from outside the cell. "In the meantime, I will have clothes brought." He would bring them himself, actually, disguised as a guard. He did not want Heimdall speaking to anybody unsupervised. He changed the cell wards on the way out, so that Heimdall could hear what went on around him but could not be heard himself. He also laid illusion over the cell so that the walls were always white and the furniture always in perfect order. Just in case.

* * *

A month later, Loki visited again. He looked around the walls and nodded appreciatively. "You have very neat handwriting," he observed.

"You have spelled this room so that no one sees my messages," Heimdall guessed. Hoarse.

"…And so that no one hears you shout. Perhaps you might as well stop." He walked slowly from end to end. "Have you been writing in  _blood_?"

"I had no paint."

Loki snorted. "I can have paint brought for you, if you prefer. It won't matter." He sighed. "Let's stop this, Gatekeeper. All I need is your oath, and I can let you out."

Heimdall sighed back. He looked... drained. "If you let me out, I would be back within a few minutes," he admitted. "I will not obey you."

In that case: "Thanks for the warning. I'll see you in a month."

* * *

"Have your views changed, Heimdall?"

"No."

"You must be  _dying_  of boredom in there. Is there anything I can bring you?"

"I need nothing. Except Loki in chains, where he belongs."

"Fuck you very much, my friend. I'll be back – eventually. Say, a year from now? How would you like that?"

"My answer will be the same."

* * *

"Loki. Has it been a year already?"

"Not quite." Not even close, actually. Loki hadn't had the stomach to wait more than six or eight weeks. "I'm worried that you'll go mad in there without company. And that is not what I intend for you."

"Mm." Heimdall licked his lips. (They were looking less chapped now; Loki had had some more comforts shipped in and had remembered lotion this time. The air in the cell got quite dry.) "How fares Asgard?"

"Well, actually. Very well. But it would be safer if it had its Guardian. Will you swear your loyalty now?"

Heimdall shook his head.

* * *

This time, he opened the cell. He sent the guards away and stepped in alone - under his glamour. "Heimdall, it's time to go before the court so that I can pronounce sentence. Put this on."

Loki tossed a heavy locking muzzle into his lap. Heimdall looked it for a long moment and then looked up. "No."

Loki snatched it. "Then turn around, and I'll do it. If you don't cooperate I'll have to use a more permanent method of silencing you, and I already told you what it will be."

That, at least, got his sullen acquiescence. Once he was unable to talk, Loki sent guards in to chain him up the rest of the way and bring him up for sentencing.

He did it in front of the whole court. "Your many years of service have been invaluable to Asgard, and you were doing what you thought was right," he said. "Those are facts that work in your favor. However. You disobeyed the express command of your king - and this was not the first time. Nor the second."

Heimdall's eyes burned, but he could say nothing.

"For your disobedience, you will be consigned to the dungeons until further notice." A ripple went through the hall. The king held up his hand. "However. I will visit you on occasion, as I have been, and we will talk. It may take two days, or two years, or two  _thousand_ years, but when I judge that you have learned from your mistakes, and that I need expect no more insubordination, I will order your release."

Guards had to yank on the chains with all their strength to force Heimdall into a bow. The king suppressed a smile as he was dragged away. _Do you really think you are more stubborn than I am?_

* * *

"Loki? You were just here."

"Yes. I haven't come to ask for your loyalty today. Today I want to know about repairing the watchtower. It's taken six guards at a time to operate the thing in your absence, and they're doing a terrible job."

"What happened?"

"They turned the dome while the Bifrost was still open. It melted a portion of the ceiling."

He spread a scroll out on the floor - Heimdall's table had been taken away after he'd smashed it and tried to short out the cage using its pieces. "Right here. What should we do about it?"

Heimdall crouched down beside him and took the pen from his hand. Loki was fully prepared to be stabbed with it, but all Heimdall did was draw. And explain. His voice was rough and quiet from disuse; he had to sip water every few minutes. But he explained the whole thing

"And... about your oath?" Loki said hopefully, when they were done.

Heimdall shook his head. "Save your breath, Loki."

* * *

"Good morning! Happy November. You don't look well, Gatekeeper."

"You are not my king."

* * *

"Heimdall. Get up.  _Get up._ "

This time the projection was in the cell again. It had been a while since Loki had bothered; in recent months they'd just had their little conversations through the wards.

"What?" Heimdall only rolled over in bed.

"They tell me you're not eating. I believe them – you look horrible."

"I have no need of food."

Loki heaved a sigh. "We both know that's not true. I won't allow you to starve. Start taking care of yourself, or I swear I will have it done by force. By a deaf-mute," he added, "Who will pay no attention to your treasonous lies."

That, at least, got him to sit up. "Lies?" he laughed.

"Lies. You plan to say I am not the king."

Heimdall swallowed. "I plan to say you're not Odin," he agreed.

"I hope to say that myself someday. Do you think I  _like_ giving the old bastard credit for everything I do?"

Heimdall's eyes were dull, but he still spoke with strength. "I will not say that you  _are_  what you are  _not_."

Loki opted not to argue that just now. "Well, you will eat, at least," he declared.

"You can feed me whatever you wish, but I will grow no healthier in this cell."

"We'll see about that." Loki took it as a challenge. He spelled a skylight into the ceiling. Spelled the floor of the cell to pitch and yaw at intervals, so that Heimdall had to run around and balance on it instead of sitting motionless all day. Spelled him fresher air and better food.

And had a metal chair featuring straps and shackles bolted to the floor, as incentive to eat it.

* * *

"Ahem. Wake up. It's April, Heimdall."

He stirred – awkwardly; the thick comforters were not what he was used to. "Where am I?"

"The healing room. You were sick."

"Yes."

A soft knock at the doorway, and they both turned to watch a young healer enter the room. "Very sorry, Your Majesty, Gatekeeper." She nodded to each of them in turn. "But it's time to check his fever again."

"Of course." The king backed away.

"Thank you, Sire. Gatekeeper, open your mouth."

Heimdall did as he was told. Then his eyes widened. "Can you… hear me?"

"Of course I can – but please stop talking. Your throat is parched."

"But- I don't understand." He turned to the king. "I have sworn no oath."

"I know. I suppose I'll just have to take my credit a little earlier than I had intended. I won't have you die." A loud sigh. "Though I don't know why not – you are more impossible than I am. Now get some rest."

Heimdall was quiet for a time. At last he said, up to the ceiling: "Yes... my king." The king paused in the doorway to smile.

* * *

The End.

Heimdall's stubborn, but I'd like to think he's not  _impossible_ to win over. Let me know what you think!

 


	9. Jotun lifespan

**A/N: After Thor makes the offer to spring Loki in return for his help.**

* * *

"When do we start?"

"As soon as possible. It will take some time for me to plan our escape, but-"

"Obviously you should let me help," Loki snapped. "I'm the far superior planner between us."

_Is that why you are locked here in a cage while I prepare to ascend the throne?_ But he did not need Loki driven into a rage, so he kept that to himself. "No," he said instead. "Don't make me repeat myself: you are invited along because I need you. Not because I trust you or because I want your company. I have friends who will help me plan. You just... stay here."

He had already turned from the cell when Loki called after him. "Thor. Wait."

The voice was soft and rough again. Thor didn't like to hear it that way; it stirred things in him that  _did not exist_. "What."

"I need something, in the meantime. A- a book."

"A what?"

"Mother was bringing me books. But I hadn't yet gotten around to asking her for the one I truly wanted."

He hissed. "Loki, we don't have time for  _books._ "

Loki laughed. A mad, bitter laugh. "I have no idea how much time I have – that's just it."

"What? I told you, as soon as I can settle on a way to remove you, we will-"

"No – not that.  _Listen._ " He heart a scuffing sound that said Loki was kicking at the floor – again. He tried not to think of the blood. "Just listen. Father and I-..." A hiss. " _Odin_  and I argued, when first I was brought back here. Something we said made me wonder. I didn't have the heart to ask Mother because I didn't want her to have to tell me but I need to know. I  _need to know._ "

This did not sound good. "What do you need to know, Loki?"

Loki took a breath. "There are a few volumes in the library about the Jotun – I know there are. I remember one was more... clinical than the rest. I recall pictures of a... dissection." The words were harsh and strangled. "Find that book. Bring it to me, or read it yourself. I want to know how long they –  _we_  – are supposed to live."

Thor spun around and came close to the cell. "Loki..."

Loki shrugged. "Mother brushed it off when I fretted about  _eternal_ imprisonment. Did she mean that the time would fly by? Or did she mean that there wouldn't be much time in the first place? For all we know I'm an old man with one foot in the grave. For all we know my  _madness_ is just a mind degenerating with ancient age. This could already be the beginning of the end."

"Loki," Thor said again, but found he had nothing to say.

"We know this escape will risk our lives. That's fine - but I would like to know what I'm risking."

* * *

The End.

Dunno where this thought came from, but it's pretty creepy. Can you imagine having  _no idea_ about the life expectancy of your species?

And: thank you guys so so much for your comments! Totally making my day.

 


	10. Driving elf ship

**A/N: Takes place while the boys are trying to jumpstart the elf ship.**

* * *

The spaceship looked like nothing that anyone drove on Asgard.  _How hard could it be,_  said Thor, and then proceeded to push buttons at random and act surprised when no results were achieved.

Loki stole a glance at the mortal. She was of Midgard, and a scientist besides. If this looked anything at all like Midgard technology, surely she would speak up and offer suggestions.

But when he caught her eye she shook her head, blank and terrified. She had no idea either.

 _Damn._  He was now out of options. So, although it was an unpleasant thing to look back on, Loki closed his eyes and called to mind his brief crash-course (ha) in how to drive a Chitauri vehicle.

Now that he thought about it, the control panels actually did look a bit similar. The Chitauri flyers hadn't had power-on buttons either – they could be activated by just a sharp blow of a warrior's fist. It was supposed to make movement quicker and more efficient in battle; it required very little attention and you could even do it in your armor or with a weapon in your hand. Bang good and hard on the dashboard, and the ship would roar to life.

Of course, if he  _told_ Thor that, Thor would refuse to listen. Or, worse, would want to know where he got the idea. That conversation would not likely lead to Thor granting him any measure of trust, which he would need if he wanted to survive this day. So, he said something else.

"Gently," he purred. "Don't bang on it. Just press the buttons gently."

His tone was sweet and patronizing, exactly the tone most calculated to drive Thor into a rage, and sure enough Thor began banging on the ship while swearing that he was not.

The ship powered on.

Loki reminded himself not to look too smug.

* * *

The End.

I would apologize for how ridiculous this tidbit was, except no, because the actual scene was _just as ridiculous_.   And I'm really surprised Jane didn't speak up.  Thor and Loki might be used to life-risking Bad Idea adventures, but she's pretty much not.  She should have been like: "What are you people doing - Thor can't even drive stick!  Let me out.  I'll take my chances with the elf!"  


	11. Loki & Jane AU plan

**A/N: AU for after Fandral gets the pursuing flying-boat off their tail. This would be a much better plan!**

* * *

When Jane opened her eyes again, they were still in the little flying boat. Well- she and Loki were.

"Where's Thor?" she said, trying to sit up. It was like moving through molasses.

"Lie down. He's fine."

Loki's voice was commanding – but quiet. For some reason his attempts to give orders didn't grate on her like Thor's. (Or Odin's. The bastard.)

"Okay, but where is he?" she said – lying down.

"I pushed him over the side." Loki looked down at her, as if daring her to argue. "More ships were following us. Odin couldn't care less about me – or you. It's Thor he wanted. They stopped to fish him out, and we got away."

The reasoning wasn't terrible. But still.

"Now hang on, and don't distract me."

Loki gunned it hard suddenly, and the speed picked up. Jane's stomach didn't. But this wouldn't be a good time to throw up, so she tried not to.

"Are you going to be sick?" Loki said.

"No. Pay attention – watch the road!" He  _was_ , though. He hadn't taken his eyes off the road – or sky, or whatever.

"Silence distracts me. Say something."

She swallowed. They really were picking up speed. She sat up just far enough to peek over the edge of the boat...

And she almost had a heart attack. "Loki!"

He laughed. "If it were easy, everyone would do it."

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" She was holding on. As if that would help.

"I almost never make mistakes here."

" _Almost_?! Loki! That's a  _rock_  – are you nuts?"

"Possibly."

He didn't  _look_  nuts, though – he looked focused. Intent. Terrified – but also like he was having the time of his life.

Jane hung on and kept her eyes open as the tiny,  _tiny_ split in the rock grew closer-...

"Get down," he ordered – quietly again.

She did, just in time. When they zipped into the mouth of the cave bits of rock and metal rained down on her, amid awful screeching as the craft scraped the walls.

But Loki stood unflinching at the wheel, unblinking even, making tiny course corrections, keeping the scraping from becoming a disaster. Despite herself, she was impressed. Maybe they were going to survive this after all.

The noises stopped, suddenly, as they shot out of the tunnel and into open space. "Ta-da," Loki sang.

* * *

As they sailed over the desolate wastes of Svartalfheim, Jane's heart finally slowed and she was able to concentrate on other things besides praying for her life. "What's going to happen to Thor?"

"The cells," Loki said absently. "Probably mine actually; it's vacant. His friends will break him out. He'll come rushing headlong to where we are, somehow, to blindly throw himself in the middle exactly when the situation is most delicate."

But he sounded...  _satisfied._ She didn't understand. "That's supposed to help us... how exactly?"

"What?"

"I mean – you said he's going to mess up the plan," she prompted. "I'm asking how that could possibly be a good thing."

"Because the plan is not going to work," Loki explained. "Hold on – we're landing." As he put the craft down, he started talking again. He sounded a little like a crazy person, but it was no worse than Erik had gotten lately. "When a plan's going to work, you want it to go according to plan. Right? Right." He didn't wait for any input. "But when a plan's  _not_ going to work, then any disturbance or interruption, or the intervention of some unexpected chaos, can only  _help_. It can give you a chance where there was none. Can you pick locks?"

"What?" She was going to have to learn to do more than just stupidly repeat  _what,_ if she ever wanted Loki's respect. Which reminded her: "And – sorry – what's going to happen to  _me_? We never really covered that. Thor would have protected me. Will you?"

Loki finished landing, then let go of the stick and turned to look at her. "Yes. Thor would kill me otherwise, and I don't have a death wish."

"Oh." That was... fairly reassuring? She was glad that he'd explained it as self-interest; she wouldn't have believed anything else. "Okay, well... good."

"Can you pick locks?" he said again. Held out his bound wrists to her.

"Uh, no. No, I can't. Sorry."

He sighed. "It's all right, I'll talk you through it. Come here."

It had taken Thor so long to learn to talk  _to_ her, rather than  _at_ her. But Loki, on the other hand... Thor had described him as strange and friendless, but already he had managed to put her almost completely at ease. She wondered if he was lying. He  _was_ supposed to be good at that.

She watched him retrieve slivers of metal from hiding places in his collar and belt. "Take these," he said. "Stand beside me, it's easier." He held the cuffs up. "See the hole just beneath the larger blue screw?"

"This?"

"No – sorry – the smaller hole. Yes. That's the keyhole."

"Okay."

"The straight piece I gave you – that goes in first. Slide it in, and when you feel an obstruction get to the left of it. Then, push the piece up and hold it. Can you do that?"

"Up like over our heads, or up like in front of us?"

"In front of us."

"Okay."

"Do it. I'll tell you what to do with the second piece next."

Jane did as he said. His breath was on her while she worked, and it was a little distracting but she couldn't exactly ask him to stop breathing. "No," he murmured, "You missed the-... yes. There. Gently, yes, a little further..."

She felt it against something. Something with give, something she could shift. "Okay... that?"

"Mm-hm. Good girl – you have steady hands."

Aaand, she needed to hear that about seventeen more times, purred just like that, right against the skin of her neck.

Or, maybe she really  _didn't._  It wouldn't be just Loki who got killed if Thor found out that she was thinking-...

"Okay. Now what?" she said, loudly enough to drown out her thoughts.

"Now take the second rod and just  _stick_  it in there." There was a growl in his voice now – and amusement. She would bet  _anything_  he was doing it on purpose.

"I shouldn't be gentle this time?" she teased. Let him see he couldn't intimidate her by perving. "You want me to just shove it in?"

"I  _do_  like you."

She opted to ignore that – joking around was one thing but open flirting was a step too far. "This?" When the second piece went in, it glowed green in her hands and then started to smoke. "What the-...?"

"It's a magic pick," Loki explained – in his normal voice again. "Give it a moment, it has to shift its shape a little."

She could see the metal oozing and bulging. "That's amazing!" She leaned in for a better look – and coughed. "What's that smell?"

He shrugged. "Jotun flesh burning, I think. It  _is_  pretty foul, isn't it. Sorry. Give it a moment."

"Jotun-? Loki!"

"Hold on.  _Ah_  – there." As soon as the cuffs clicked open, he ripped them off his wrists and flung them down. "Much better."

His wrists were smoking – and ringed with burns, raw and open. "Oh – euw, yuck." Jane made a face but didn't turn away; she'd seen worse. "Do you need anything?"

"No. It'll heal." He smirked. "And I think it will be best for both of us if Thor returns to discover you saying things like  _euw_ and  _yuck_  to me. We've had problems in the past."

"Problems." She didn't doubt it. She herself was  _on fire_ with lust, or if not lust, then... then  _something._  She wanted.  _Wanted_.

Loki stepped to the helm of the boat. "Ready to go?"

She could hardly hear him. "Go? Go where?"

He pointed, over her shoulder. "Away from that thing."

That thing? What thing.  _Ah_. Suddenly she got it: the source of her want. She could  _feel_  him calling to her. "That's Malekith's ship."

"Yes. And I imagine it doesn't corner  _nearly_ as tightly as this one." He patted the steering stick. "If we can play keep-away for a couple of hours until the Convergence is well and truly over, the universe will thank us. Or-..." he snorted. "It won't, but it should."

It was hard to think with Malekith's desire pounding in her blood. She tried to say something rational. "Loki. Um. Thor wanted to go to him right away," she reminded.

"Yes, well, Thor was worried that you were dying. I can't say I find the prospect nearly as distressing as he did."

She had a sudden desire to jump out of the boat. He was  _right there._  His ship was slowing. Landing. "I- I have to go to him."

"Mm. Is he calling to you?"

She nodded.

"Is it getting worse?"

Nodded harder. She had never wanted anything so badly in all her life.

"We can't have that. Give me your hands."

She was too busy pining to think what he must mean, and held her hands out obediently.

"Good girl." A sudden,  _painful_  pressure at her wrists and she realized Loki had clapped the cuffs on her. No – cuff. He had crammed both her wrists together and locked one of the shackles around them, and the other around his own left hand. "It's a good thing you've got skinny arms."

" _Loki!_ " She tugged uselessly and twisted to try and see over her shoulder, forced to bend over as he sat at the helm. "I have to go!"

"No you don't. Sit down."

"Please!"

"Do you want me to hit you? Really – do you?" he pressed, when all she did was keep fighting. "It might help clear your head."

"I want you to let me go!" She'd had no idea he was this strong; thrashing around with all her strength couldn't even make him lose his balance. He ignored her. Even when she screamed in frustration and soccer-kicked him.

"Sit," he said again, and a good yank sent her sprawling to the floor. He was moving the steering-stick; they were rising into the air. "They've landed; it will take them a few minutes to take off again. That's our head start."

"I hate you," she said to his feet. And she did.

"That's fine. You're in good company.  _Ah-_... He's seen us. Hang on."

* * *

The End.

This one I might continue at some point. It's fun!

 


	12. Frigga Feelz - Define Worse

**A/N: Takes place right after Loki is brought to the dungeon. More Frigga feelz!**

* * *

The cage buzzed to life, the guards checked the seals and then stepped away. Leaving Loki alone – as he would be, now, until the end of his days.

The door closed behind them as they left the dungeons. Loki held his breath and listened to the silence.

"I should throttle you."

He spun around gracelessly, gasping. "Mother!"

She crossed the cell in two steps, raised her hand and struck him across the face with it-…

But it was only a shower of sparks. An illusion – she was not really here. "Mother," he said again, softer. He tried to reach for her, habit really. His hands fell right through her shoulders. "I wish you could really be here," he admitted. "Even if all you plan to do is beat me."

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, though. I am glad you've come like this at least. Thank you."

She looked slightly – but just slightly – mollified.

"What are you so angry about?" he asked. Then winced. "I mean… what are you  _most_ angry about? Let's hear the top three."

She sighed and stepped away from him. There was a powerful sadness radiating off the illusion – as well as anger, and frustration. "I don't know what angers me  _most_ , but I can tell you what angered me  _most recently_." She drew herself up. " _Define worse_ , Loki? Really?"

Her glare reduced him to about the age of seven. "I- I'm sorry," he stammered. "I just… I didn't have it in me to think of anyone else. Even you. I was… too afraid. I really thought he was going to-…" He flicked fingers against his neck. Didn't even want to say it aloud.

Frigga softened. "Oh, Loki – no. No, that's not what I-… Is that what you thought I meant – _don't_ _make this worse for ME_? Have I ever struck you as so selfish?"

He blinked. If not that, then…?

"I  _meant_ , don't let your pride run your mouth and get you in more trouble with you-know-who than you are already." The avoidance of Odin's name brought a brief smile to his lips. He and Mother had always laughed about how he'd probably instructed Heimdall to listen specifically for it and report what people were saying about him. "I was trying to warn you how very delicate the situation was. I had swayed him off execution – but barely. I was so afraid you would do something to change his mind."

When he tried to answer, his throat closed. He realized in horror that he was about to start weeping. He spun away and stood in the corner; at least she wouldn't actually  _see_ his humiliation.

She waited. Eventually he managed words – still facing away. "Is this better? Eternity in a cage?"

"It's a nice cage, Loki," she said patiently, "And I will do my best to get you out of it someday."

He almost had his breath back. Almost could turn to look at her.

"…Though it will probably take time. I've already played all my best cards."

He laughed at the wall. "What did you do?"

"I told him that if he executed you, I'd see to it that no one would ever call him Father again," she said calmly. "I threatened to turn Thor against him and lay a curse on my own womb." A rustle, as the illusion shifted restlessly. "Our home has not been exactly peaceful since that conversation."

He made himself turn to face her – she deserved it, whether he was crying or not. "Mother, I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to-… I wouldn't have asked you to do that."

She was smiling – but it didn't look happy. "I haven't even gotten to the part you wouldn't have asked me to do."

It wasn't possible for him to feel any worse than he did already, so he gestured for her to go on.

"I had to promise him another child. As if we have it in us to raise it properly!" She shook her head. "My hope is that we will die in time, before we've warped its affections too badly, and Thor will take it in, treat it as his own. It seems like something he would do."

All he got out was an anguished whisper of  _Mother._

Her smile became even harsher. "So don't tell me no one loves you. Don't tell me no one would sacrifice for you. And don't tell me there aren't worse things than a few years in a cage."

He couldn't say  _Mother I'm sorry_  again. He had to offer something better. "What do you want me to do?" he said at last.

Her answer was swift and cool. "I want you to say  _Mother I love you,_  and  _thank you,_  and  _I'll do whatever you tell me,_  and  _this will never happen again._  Can you promise me that?"

He swallowed. "I'd promise you anything, you know that. But…"

"…But if I want a promise I can rely on, I'll have to wait until you're feeling calmer and have thought this all over. Is that it?"

He nodded.

"Very well. I will come and see you again, as soon as I can. It might be some time – I can only do it when  _he_ is otherwise occupied."

"Be careful, Mother."

He meant it, with all his heart. But she sighed and shook her head. "Your concern comes much too late, Loki."

That hurt. Sharp stabbing pain. Before he could control himself he blurted out: "I love you," and then he held his breath. Terrified. He shouldn't have said that. If she...

But she gave him, finally, a smile that was genuine. "That, it is  _never_  too late for."

* * *

The End.


	13. Nice Loki on his Deathbed

**A/N: Eeek, another sad alternative for the death scene. Sorry!**

* * *

The speed with which Thor appeared by his side was one sign. The hoarse murmur of  _No, no, no_  was another.

But the kicker, the thing that told Loki for certain that he was well and truly dying, was that Thor abandoned all pretense of not caring and hauled him into his lap. "Loki-... Oh Loki..."

"Oh, stop," he gasped. "I've had worse." Then he descended into wild laughter, because of course he had  _not_ had worse, of course he wasn't given to brawling unless he was with Thor and until now Thor had never let him get hurt this badly. Had very rarely let him get hurt at all.

Once he got himself under control again he felt he had to explain. "When we were about seven," he whispered, "You promised I'd never fall in battle because you would always be there to protect me. And I said- do you remember-..."

But then he forgot what he was thinking of. Couldn't finish his sentence.

"Loki, please – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hush. You didn't do this." He blinked. "Did you? I feel..."

Thor's breaths were shuddery. "That blade is poisoned. Father said it-... Are you in pain?"

"No." He felt himself smiling. "If I was, would you put me down gently? What a dream come true for you: you'd get to kill me after all, and I'd thank you for it."

Thor looked horribly upset. Loki wondered why. "Loki-... No, I- I don't want that. I would never want that."

It took him a few moments to replay the conversation in his mind and remember what comment Thor was talking about. A few moments more to puzzle out what he'd meant. "Ah. Sorry. You don't want that," he agreed. "I must have been thinking of me."

"Loki!"

"What?"

Thor gave a loud sniffle. Was he crying? "Mother... didn't survive this long," he said. A valiant effort at rational conversation. "Perhaps the poison will not kill you. You are stronger."

"I am stronger?" Painful as it was Loki had to laugh. Thor had never accused him of being stronger than anything.

He focused hard and made a rational reply. "Frost-giants are different, Thor, but they're not  _that_ different." It was becoming harder and harder to hold on. He could hear his breaths changing, too – there were less of them. They were slower.

He felt warm and heavy. "I think Mother didn't suffer," he volunteered – whispering now; it was easier. "I'm glad to know that."

Thor sucked in an enormous sob. "I am so sorry-...  _brother._ " Loki heard the hesitation. "She died quickly. I should never have kept that from you."

Mother would have wanted him to be generous. So, with a heroic effort, he did not tell Thor  _Don't you dare 'brother' me now_.

"Yes, well, I'm used to it," he whispered instead. "People keep secrets from me all the time." He focused and tried to think of something useful to say. "There are caves. In that hill we tumbled down. Well.  _You_ tumbled. I ran."

Thor sniffled. "Caves?"

"Yes. Walls're thin there. I've never been... but I've seen maps. You should be able... to find a way off-realm. If you look hard enough."

There were a few more things he wanted to say. Beginning with:  _If I can find that creature with the horns on its face I swear by all I hold dear I'll tear it a new asshole and pull its guts out the old one._

He wasn't sure he could manage that. So he stuck to: "I'll give Mother your love."

Thor was crying openly now. "I'll give Father yours."

"No." But he couldn't leave it at that. He needed to get out a few words more. It took him two tries, but at last: "...Keep it."

* * *

The End.

*Sniffle*

Sorry, guys!


	14. Loki's Sentencing

**A/N: AU for Loki's sentencing. The wiser Odin thinks he is, the more I want to punch him. And/or laugh at him.**

* * *

"To rule them as a benevolent god," Loki explained. "Just like you."

Odin blinked. Shifted in his seat. "You wished to be a god to Midgard?"

"Yes."

Another silence. Then Odin said, crisp and clear: "You  _suck_  at it."

Loki's turn to blink and stare. "I- beg pardon," he said at last.

"You were not ready. When is the last time you visited Midgard to study it? You do not know their ways. You do not, it seems, even know their speech."

"I- I don't  _need_ to know their foolish ways," Loki snarled. "I was bringing them something better!"

Odin's assessment was short and brutal. "You approached them in a way that they found unacceptable. That was stupid; it caused them to fight you. Then you  _lost_  that fight. You were defeated and humiliated by a handful of mortals."

"And Thor!"

Odin shot that down at once. "It was a mortal who beat you like a carpet and left you groaning on the floor." Loki flinched – and Odin pressed on. "Yes: I was watching. And I was disgusted and ashamed – as should be  _anyone_ who had a hand in trying to teach you either combat or statecraft. You were a failure on every level."

That, finally, rendered the prisoner silent. He was working to swallow; his face had colored and his eyes were bright.

Odin waited him out. He would not be allowed to just cower and accept his fate; he would have to own every inch of this.

Eventually he broke. "What will become of me?" he asked. The venom was gone from his voice; it was quiet now, and shaking. "If it's-… If it's to be execution, then please don't delay. Just…" He spread his hands. Not very far, because of the cuffs, but the gesture was clear.

"No," Odin said after a silence. "You will not be executed."

Loki sagged visibly with relief.

"Instead, you will be taken to the dungeons. There to learn patience and contentment."

A disbelieving, choked sound that was almost like laughter. "Contentment – in the dungeons?"

Odin nodded. "After enough time and deprivation, you will learn to appreciate even the smallest of pleasures when they are offered you. A meal. A candle. Perhaps a visit, someday. The greed that has driven you will wither and die, and you will learn to be satisfied."

Loki took no time at all to consider the information. "I see," he said at once. "And for how long will this… learning experience continue?"

Odin's eyebrows arched. "I would have guessed a number in centuries," he said after a while. "It would appear I was too optimistic. It could be millennia before that frenzy in you dies out. You do _not_ deserve a throne. You do  _not_  deserve your freedom. Frankly, you do not even deserve your life… but by the grace of your king, and through the intercession of your mother, you may keep it."

Loki bowed his head. Odin went on.

"As for the remainder of your sentence…"

Loki's head shot up. "Remainder?"

"Yes. You will sit in isolation until your blood no longer boils. But then, afterwards, you will re-learn the lessons you have obviously failed or forgotten: you'll have your books and your tutors, and you will repeat  _every scrap_  of education you have ever experienced."

That was  _centuries_ of study. But Loki was not quite foolish enough to complain.

"Then," Odin went on, "You will be punished, for the barbarity you showed to the humans."

When Odin offered no more details, he spoke up. "Punished how?"

"The humans believe that barbarity should be punished in kind," he said placidly. "Did you not hear them speak of their code when you visited?"

"Wh-what code?"

"Their violent offenders have an eye carved from their heads." Loki started to make protest, but Odin continued over him. "You are already so blind that I think it will hardly inconvenience you. In any event, I am proof enough that you can govern regardless."

Loki ignored the prospect of mutilation and focused on something much more important. "Govern," he repeated.

"Yes." Odin raised his chin. "After your punishment, you will make reparation to the people of Midgard. And then,  _after_ they have come to see the good you can offer them,  _after_  the memory of your cruelty and your stupidity has faded with the passing of generations…  _then,_ they will kneel and call you king."

Loki's jaw dropped. He couldn't even formulate an answer.

"Loki will have his throne after all."

* * *

The End.

Odin's attitude towards humans in the movie was so douchebaggy. I really think he wouldn't hesitate to use earth as a learning experience for his crazy son and just promise him lordship over earth as if it's his to give. Jerk.


	15. Creepy and Depressing Frigga Feelz

**A/N: This is creepy and depressing Frigga feelz. Loki in the dungeon.**

* * *

Loki awoke without a headache. He only got headaches every seventh day, and he didn't mind them too much because it was a helpful way of guessing at how much time was passing. The way he told time was by conjuring ice and letting it melt. Early on he had spent an hour counting the seconds and minutes aloud, watching an icicle melt, and ever afterwards he could tell time's passing by icicles.

He didn't have much ability to cast magic these days; there were wards of some kind smothering his abilities. Ice, though, seemed different. Conjuring ice wasn't any more magical than breathing was, not for  _his kind._

He hated the wards though. They were the cause of the boredom that was killing him, the constant hum of too much power coursing though him trapped… probably the headaches that ruined his mornings as well.

He made his ice-clock. Twelve hours – he would stay awake for twelve hours. It seemed an impossibly long time and a terrible burden, but if he stopped requiring even twelve hours of himself he feared he would start slipping away until eventually he never woke at all. Surely that was Odin's plan.

His food came, in a bright strident flash of magic he had come to hate. It hurt his eyes and it taunted him. He would rather forego food entirely, but even when he tried that the food still appeared the next day.

He ate, because otherwise the bland grainy smell of it would sit all day in the cell and nauseate him. It was… mush, really. But he ate all of it and drank the water, and then pissed in the bowl afterwards (he really hoped they washed the dishes) because he  _hated,_  even more than the appearance of the food, the use of magic to take care of his elimination needs. It was a painful, cramping suction inside his gut and it left him aching for hours afterwards.

And it was  _bad magic._  He could have done better himself. What they were using was an ancient vanishing spell that  _ripped_  its target away into nothingness, and he knew much gentler versions that wouldn't pull at any surrounding matter at all.

But. In any event. He put the bowl away in the corner and proceeded to the rest of his daily routine, which was…nothing.

But then, suddenly,  _wonderfully,_  a sound. The heavy dungeon doors, creaking open.

He hallucinated this sound often, dreamed it, but this time he  _knew_  it was truly happening. He threw himself against the cage at once, ignoring the uncomfortable magical buzz of it, and called out. "Guards? Guards – hello?"

"Not guards, Loki. It's just me."

He was weak and dizzy suddenly; slid down to his knees, still pressed against the grate. " _Mother._ "

"Move," she ordered, "I know the walls burn you. I'll project in."

She shimmered into being,  _right there beside him in his cell,_  and he had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. He knew it was only a projection but he wasted long minutes trying to touch it anyway, trying to hug it, watching helplessly as his arms slid through.

The last time he had hugged his mother was a lie. It was by Odin's bedside, where he was  _comforting_  her,  _protecting_  her, from the  _danger_ of the  _frost-giants_  who were  _attacking._  That hug was probably the worst, evilest, most dishonorable thing he had ever done. Treason and betrayal to its core.  _Lying._

He started crying after a while, because he couldn't hug her now to help take the taste away. He would never be able to hug her again.

"Sh-sh," she soothed. Her voice was thick. "Loki please, I love you, please don't cry."

He knew he was hurting her. He had to stop. Made himself stop.

He finally turned away, nodding, and made a lap of the cell to regain his composure. "If you're wondering why I keep a bowl of piss in the corner," he volunteered after a bit, "It's because I don't like the magic they use in lieu of a toilet. I promise you it's a… sensible system. I'm not quite so mad yet that I go pissing around the room at random."

She cleared her throat. "I'm glad to hear it. Do you think you're going mad?"

"Yes." He faced her again; he was calm enough for it now. "My thinking is disordered. The monotony is crushing my mind." He laughed. "I often have dreams of you, actually. Asking if I'm mad."

"You're not mad, Loki." She beckoned and urged him to sit down on his cot. She sat beside him. "But let's use the time we have to talk of happier things. Do you want any news from outside?"

He felt his face twist hatefully. "If Thor is doing well I don't want to hear about him," he spat. "But if he's crashing and burning as king, then please, by all means, share. I'll find it amusing at least."

She sighed. "Odin has not yet given up the throne, Loki. Mostly because of  _you_ , I think."

He blinked. "Because of me?"

"Yes. If Thor were king I could go to him and order him, as his mother, to commute your sentence. At least to let you live on better terms than these. But Odin fears you – what he says is:  _if we give him an inch, we'll awaken the next morning to find him standing over us with a blade in his hand._ "

That brought a smile to his face. He wondered if Frigga was flattering on purpose. "Thank his majesty for the compliment," he said. "Though I don't exactly see how a toilet or an occasional glimpse of another living being could possibly result in my escape. But I do appreciate the sentiment."

She sighed. "No more bitterness," she pleaded. "Not to me."

He bit his lip. "You could give me news of the birds that had been nesting above my balcony," he said at last. "Did the eggs ever hatch? Did they return the next year?"

Her smile was so loving and so welcome it brought tears to his eyes. He listened to her, about his birds, about the horses, news of creatures towards which he could not  _possibly_ be feeling angry. It made him sad, a little, but it was well worth it.

It had been so long since he'd had news of anything. A thought crossed his mind and he  _tried_ to banish it, but he hadn't been having much luck controlling his mind lately. He looked into Frigga's eyes and said: "Why haven't you come to visit me until now?"

Her smile faded. She looked at her lap. "Loki, I swear there is an explanation that will satisfy you – you will know it was not inattention or lack of love, you will believe that I have missed you with every breath. I will give you that explanation before I leave… but not now, because it would ruin what time we have left. You would storm and rage. Not at me, but nevertheless, I would rather use our time for happier things."

It sounded reasonable. Doubtless the explanation was that Odin had forbidden her, which begged the question of how she had managed to come  _today,_ but still. She had made a request and he would honor it. "Of course," he said, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. "But you will tell me before you go?"

"Of course."

They sat together a little longer – not  _much_  longer, and in any event it would never have been enough. Then they heard the dungeon doors again. He grabbed for her reflexively, slid right through the projection. "Who is that?" he hissed.

None other than the Allfather himself strode into view of the cage. "Who do you think?" he said crisply. "Frigga, your time is up. Stand aside."

The projection rose – and stepped squarely in front of him as though to shield. (As though it  _could_!) "This is not good for him, Odin," she pleaded. "The tampering is damaging his mind. Already he has dreams about me, he remembers-"

"Enough. It's not  _supposed_ to be good for him. I let you make these visits to soothe  _your_ heart, not his; he is not entitled to this comfort and I won't let him keep it." Loki began to understand. "Now stand aside. You know I hate spellcasting through you."

"Mother, is he saying…?"

She turned to face him. He could see tears. "I'll see you next week, Loki."

* * *

The End.

Sorry sorry sorry sorry!

Also: I'm now putting chapter titles on these in case you ever want to find one for re-read.  There are getting to be a lot of these.


	16. Hand Plan

**A/N: Teeny quicky about The Hand Plan.**

* * *

Thor was  _supposed_ to reach for Mjolnir with his left hand, not his right, in case Loki made some mistake with the spell and did worse than just cast illusion over it.

"Thor – just  _imagine,_ " he'd pleaded, "Imagine something goes wrong and now you've let me  _cut off your right hand_. That's- that's Asgard's greatest weapon. It's irresponsible of you to risk it and I can't believe  _I_ am the one who has to be telling you so."

Thor had smiled. "Your concern is appreciated." Voice bright and booming as ever. "But I have faith in you. You won't make mistakes."

"Well- Who said it would have to be a mistake?" he'd snarled back. "Maybe I  _want_ to deprive Asgard of all that you can do."

Thor had frowned and cocked his head in question. "Why are you trying to make me believe evil of you?"

 _Because I AM evil,_  he'd wanted to say. Or:  _when have I ever, EVER done anything correctly?_  But he'd restrained himself. "All I want is for you to be practical. Let's be safe, shall we? Let's not tempt fate – or me. Left hand."

They had stared into each other's eyes for a long time. "Fine," Thor had said at last. "Left hand." Loki had felt a little let-down, and honestly that was probably the reason he jammed the dagger good and hard into Thor's midsection instead of just sticking him shallowly with it. Thor didn't seem to consider  _that_  a problem, though; he cooperated brilliantly despite it and then, to Loki's simultaneous annoyance and delight, went ahead and offered his right hand anyway.

The spell went well – fortunately. Loki really did not want to cripple the fool for true.

* * *

**The End.**


	17. Sneaky Frigga

**A/N: Loki's in jail. Frigga's smart.**

* * *

After the sentencing, Frigga kept her ear to the ground. She slipped an illusion charm over herself and mingled with the guards, spying, influencing them where she could. She couldn't make much progress softening them, though - they were very angry. At his sentencing Loki had behaved like a little beast and made even more enemies than he had already. It was only a matter of time before a handful of them decided to go down to the cells one night and  _teach him a lesson._

If she revealed herself and ordered them to keep their hands off, they would bow and obey – for the moment. But they would try again, and again, and she could not detect and prevent  _every_  threat on her own.

She supposed she could try to use Thor. Thor might be angry enough at his brother to turn a blind eye while things were done to him, but he had a good heart. She believed that if the question were put to him directly, he would order that Loki not be harmed.

She hoped.

* * *

The dungeon doors clanged open and Thor strode through. Guards were already clustered around Loki's cell and he could hear the laughter from here. "What is the meaning of this?" he called.

They backed away respectfully, and he saw that the controls to the cell had been tampered with; the lighted panel was flashing with warning signals and was beeping softly.

"We just- we just raised the temperature a little," one of the guards said. "You know – see if we could warm up his cold heart at all."

"I see." He looked in briefly, ascertained that Loki was still breathing – though he did not look healthy; he was lying in a heap and had stripped off all his clothes and apparently upended his water jug over himself. "And, why was this done?"

They fell all over themselves to tell the story of how Loki had behaved at his sentencing. The blatant disrespect with which he had addressed the king, the rudeness he had shown his lady mother and, worst of all, the awful name he had called Thor himself.

"I see," Thor said again. He was quiet for a moment. "And… do you agree with him?"

They exploded with denials.

"Do you find me capable then, and of close to ordinary intelligence?"

Very capable, they said, and much more intelligent than ordinary.

"Then, how is it that you do not think me able to avenge my own insults?"

They fell silent. Looked at each other.

He shook his head sternly. "This," he said, "Should have been discussed with me. It is not proper for you to torment the prisoner without permission." They were murmuring sullenly, so he knew he was not finished; he was not yet sure they would cooperate. So he forced a smile. "Besides, unlike you, I know how to hit him where it hurts. Fix that heat."

Interested now, the guards obeyed quickly, shifting the controls to return the temperature to normal. "Better. Now go in there, and burn all of those books."

Loki's head jerked up at that – so, he was conscious after all! "Thor, no," he rasped. Conscious… but unwell. "Those were a gift from Mother, they're  _her_ books, you can't ruin them!"

Thor crossed his arms. "You are the least dependable being in all the realms. I highly doubt Mother lent you any of her books expecting to get them back in one piece." He looked to the soldiers again. "Burn them. Now."

Loki went berserk, which amused the soldiers even more than when he had cowered and sweated naked. They had to use the cell's force fields to corral him into a corner and hold him there, while they trooped in (letting a blast of truly brutal heat out in the process) and built a fire.

They couldn't hear Loki over the noise of the ventilation fan, but it was plain he was shouting and threatening. When the books were ash, though, he quieted. Slumped down in the corner and put his head in his arms. "I hate you," he said softly.

"Shut your mouth – or it's your furniture next." Thor turned to the guards and said clearly: "From now on, you come to  _me_  with your plans. You do  _not_ have permission to start harassing him at your pleasure. Is that clear?"

They all swore that it was. "Good. Now, get back to your duties. You've wasted enough time tonight as it is."

Once they were gone he turned back to the cell. "You weren't reading those anyway, Loki," he said. "I had the impression they bored you. I have more that you might like better; I'll send them soon."

And Thor disappeared in a shower of green sparks.

* * *

**The End.**

**Again, thank you guys so much for your comments! And I am sorry for repeatedly murdering everybody's feelz. Hopefully this one helped make up for it? It's sort of happy... sort of...**


	18. Loki Does What He Wants

**A/N: Post-movie. Loki being Loki.**

* * *

Once Thor was gone, Loki indulged himself for a while. He sat on the throne, as himself, and conjured mirrors so he could see what it looked like. It looked good.

He conjured guards. A couple of girls to attend him. (Giggling girls, who whispered among themselves and couldn't take their eyes off him. The illusion was easy because the sight was so familiar. He slammed down on the thought that until today the girls' doe-eyes had always been for Thor.)

Gungnir hummed with power – he could do anything. So, he filled the hall with people. The crowds looked a little wooden; he'd had no practice controlling this much illusion at once and he couldn't be sure the people in the back were looking appropriately awe-struck, but then again he couldn't really see them anyway. Everybody knelt when he gestured for it. It felt good.

Then he conjured Thor again, and had him come to the foot of the stairs and take a knee. "Who, me?" he whispered. "Childish? Spiteful? I have no idea what you're talking about. On your face." He gestured, and Thor went down all the way, forehead to the floor, hands planted on either side of it. As far as he knew nobody in Asgard made obeisance this way at all, but there was no reason he couldn't make a rule establishing special requirements for former heirs to the throne. Thor had always been  _different_ from everyone else, anyway.

A faint, icy blast of disapproval from his right, and he realized suddenly that he was expecting Mother to be there, scowling at him for his pettiness. His throat closed and for a moment the crowd wavered, but he pulled himself together in time and the illusion grew solid again.

 _Mother._  Off to his right.

He conjured it with his eyes closed, and when he turned she was  _there,_  now smiling indulgently at the spectacle he had created. It  _was_  a wonderful scene. The crowds loved him. Real or not it made him giddy with delight and ridiculously proud, and he wanted to share it with her, except suddenly his words returned to him like a bucket of icy water.  _Hello, Mother. Have I made you proud?_

The illusion did more than waver this time; it vanished entirely, filling the room with light and sparkles. He closed his eyes. Rubbed his temples. Pulled the ugly glamour over himself, rose as Odin and shuffled slowly out of the room.

* * *

After that one concession to his vanity, he took the glamour off only one more time. It was later that night, sitting by Odin's bedside in the big bedroom. The bed looked empty to all comers, but really, Odin lay there in his haze, deep in the odinsleep and dead to all the world.

Loki showed himself and reached for one of the cold, still hands. "Thor saved your life today," he said quietly. Already his own voice sounded strange to him. Already he missed it.

"I was going to kill you. As soon as I was certain that I could pull this off, my plan was to come back here, finish you off, and dispose of the body where nobody would find it. I still could, really."

He laughed a little. "I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Wouldn't shed any tears for you. And if I were ever found out, later, I would just say that you had expired during all the threat of the Convergence, that the stress had been too much for you. Wonderful son of Asgard that I am, I decided that it could not be without its king, and I assumed your shape in order to guide the people through the crisis. Then Thor abdicated. And what was I supposed to do? Of course I couldn't turn my back on Asgard then."

It was an excellent story. He knew he could tell it believably. Especially either with Thor's backing or in his absence. One would obviously be easier to arrange than the other.

"But… I have now changed my mind." He took a deep breath. "Thor said today that when you speak, he sometimes hears Mother's voice. I don't know that I believe that; honestly, when you speak all I hear is this hateful, strident  _lecturing_ that I've never quite managed to break through. But in any event."

He chose his words carefully. "He's right that you were her husband. That you… had some connection to her. She probably wouldn't want your death. So, for that reason and that reason alone, you can live. And sleep. If ever you awaken, thank Thor." He stood and moved away. "Goodnight, Allfather. I won't visit again." He pulled the glamour over himself again and left by a secret door.

* * *

The End!

There: two non-depressing ones in a row! *Takes a bow*


	19. Lady Loki in Jail

**A/N: Loki in prison. Featuring an appearance by Lady!Loki - and sexual content. Be warned!**

* * *

The other prisoners were crammed as many as twelve to a cell, but Loki was alone.

At first he was grateful: he did not  _want_  to be shoved into a cell with eleven reeking, bleeding captives. Captives from another world, who would jabber in their own language and give him a headache as it all echoed in his mind in the All-tongue. Captives who knew each other, who would be friends or enemies together and  _still_  leave him feeling left out. He didn't want to be put in with other captives; he was happy to be alone.

At first. But eventually the loneliness started to wear on him. He was too proud - he didn't pretend it was anything else - to wave to anyone and try to make friends across the hallway, but he was at least willing to seek their attention by other means.

He cast illusions over his cell to make them jealous. Nice furniture, beautiful food, scantily-clad women.

The women, of course, got an excellent reaction; the captives all crowded tight against the barrier trying to get a better look. Whistling and shouting (or so he thought; he could see their mouths moving but the sound would not carry into his cell).

He was good enough with his illusions that he could have them fucking credibly; one girl spread out on his chaise and another kneeling between her legs to pleasure her. It was effort, though, intense effort, and all he got for his pains was the drooling attention of some prisoners he would never meet... and a painful throbbing erection he had no privacy to deal with.

He eventually used his magic to block himself from their view. That seemed to work, except that the guards got nervous when they couldn't keep an eye on their resident disgraced sorcerer prince. They turned up the wards on the cell suddenly, which destroyed the illusion and gave everybody an eyeful of Loki with his dick in his hand.

The dungeon-wide dismay was satisfying for a second, but the laughter that followed offended him. He wondered if he would be able to finish anyway, but decided it was unlikely with the prisoners all watching him and banging on their walls demanding to have the girls back.

So, because this was definitely more interesting than being ignored, he shifted his own form into one of the girls, a voluptuous dark-haired beauty with tits to die for and a cunt that he could, after a little experimentation, derive a fair bit of pleasure from.

The men appreciated his first attempts, which mainly involved conjuring phallic objects and sticking them in himself. But that was uncomfortable. He briefly tried doing some of the things he would usually do to please a girl, but the angle was all wrong and he couldn't see what he was doing anyway. Finally he settled on rubbing himself against furniture and then his hand. It felt good and seemed to entertain the crowd.

He lost interest in being a woman as soon as he finished coming. The spectators wanted more, but he ignored them and lay down on his chaise. They kept watching, until he shifted shape into a fat old man. That got rid of them all right. Once they were gone, he returned himself to himself and pulled a blanket up.

The prisoners' attention had been flattering, he supposed, and had kept him from boredom for hours. It would be more satisfying to annoy people he knew, though. Perhaps tomorrow he would repeat the performance, but as Sif. That ought to get someone's attention all right.

* * *

The End.

Gah - sorry!  This was planned to be a silly little antidote to Ryn's depressing jack-off-in-jail ficlet from yesterday... but it somehow became sort of depressing too.


	20. Thor In His Cups

**A/N:  Post-movie.  Thor reminisces & Loki resents.**

* * *

Thor's usual seat was taken.

He was annoyed.  He knew the seat didn't _belong_ to him, but every single night for the past four weeks he had used it, and by now had come to feel possessive. (He had been on Midgard for four weeks, with Jane, because he had nowhere else to be. Odin had not sent for him, had assured him that peace still reigned and his services were not needed, and Asgard would feel too empty, now, with half of his family gone.)

The pub was quiet; the only mortals there were a few sad old drunks in their usual place at the corner. Well, them and this _stranger,_ this _intruder,_ this _usurper_ of Thor's usual place on the center bar stool.

But. He knew he had given up the right to tell people where they might and might not sit, so he swallowed his pride and took a different seat instead. Waved to the bartender and had his usual watery beer in front of him in seconds.

The stranger turned to look at him, and slurred: “Hello.”

Thor was not yet in the mood to make conversation with strangers. “Hello.”

“What brings you out on a Tuesday?”

He shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to tell the truth: that he came here because he couldn't sleep unless he was too drunk to stay awake. He knew that that sounded sad and strange – and it was. But he didn't want to make himself unwelcome at Jane's by behaving in a way that she would find inappropriate, so each night when she took herself off to bed or to the lab, he left and came here to his usual seat.

Which the stranger had taken. “A thirst,” he answered instead, and looked back to his beer. He did not invite the stranger to share his own story.

But the stranger went ahead and did it anyway. “Me, I lost someone,” he drawled. “My brother.”

Suddenly Thor's throat closed. He took a swallow. Another one. “I... too... have lost a brother,” he said finally.

The bartender appeared out of nowhere to ask, wearily: “Shots?”

Thor nodded. Whenever he talked of Loki to strangers, he would insist that they raise a toast. The liquor that was poured in the small glasses burned like fire going down, but it helped dull the pain of the memories. He often cried himself to sleep afterwards, but he slept much better. He wasn't sure whether to thank the shots or the talking.

The stranger nodded. “Make them doubles,” he said. He wasn't slurring his words now – perhaps he was not as drunk as Thor had thought at first. Well, at this rate he soon would be. They tossed back the drinks (“to brothers!”) and then Thor launched in to his tale. He left out the bits that would strike a Midgardian as strange, and just explained that they had been close, they had fought, they had become separated. Then when they reunited they had fought more, until they lived tragedy together, and danger, and they had just finally begun to mend fences and get back to normal again when Loki was snatched away untimely.

There were another pair of drinks in front of them – again. The stranger raised one. “To Loki,” he said seriously. “Nice name. Yours?”

Thor swallowed the liquor. Doubles, it turned out, burned even more than smaller shots did but they warmed him much faster. “Thor. _Yes,_ ” he anticipated, “It is my real name. Sir!” He waved for the bartender.

“I don't think you call them _sir_ , Thor,” the stranger laughed. The laugh was strange – oddly affectionate. But then, this person had just listened for twenty minutes while Thor laid bare some of the deepest wounds of his soul, so...

They drank again. By now Thor was finally beginning to feel drunk, and he relaxed in his seat a little. “Thank you for listening to me,” he said. Then, in order to return the favor: “Tell me about _your_ brother.”

“No.” The stranger smiled, a crooked smile, and wouldn't meet Thor's eyes anymore. “No, I'd rather talk about yours. Stop mourning me, Thor.” And he shimmered and sparkled, just for a moment – almost too quick for Thor to be sure what he was seeing.

 _Almost_ too quick. But he saw. “No-” he gasped. “Loki? Loki-! ... It cannot be...” He tried to get up off his chair, but the stranger – _Loki_ , no matter what he looked like – stopped him with a glare.

“Sit down, brother, and hear me out. It's the least you can do, after you've subjected me to your maudlin weeping for the past half hour.”

It _was_ Loki – it had to be. Only Loki would be this cruel. “Loki, please. Are you truly here – can I see you?”

“No. What would you want to see that face for? It's an illusion, you know that now. You know what I _really_ look like.”

Thor blinked. Could that explain why Loki had hidden himself away? No – it made no sense. Loki was never _that_ vain.

“Well... can I embrace you? Touch you at least? Please, I need to know that you're real.”

With a hiss of irritation the stranger reached over and offered his hand. Thor took it, and it hummed with power as Loki's always had. He resisted when the hand was tugged free.

“There: you've touched me. Now will you listen?”

“I'll listen to anything you say,” he said, feeling lighter and giddier than the alcohol could possibly explain. “And I have so much I need to tell you in return. Will you come home with me? Will you stay? You can't mean to leave me again, brother, not so soon after-”

“I said _listen,_ Thor.” Loki's voice carried whiplash now. “Pay attention. I want you to stop mourning me.”

“Well, of course I will! You are alive.”

“That's not why. I want you to stop because that person you are mourning is an illusion. A _lie._ A brother that never was.”

“Loki, we have been over this.” He hoped, _hoped_ that it was Loki's anger talking, his madness. He hoped that these ugly words did not spring from the seeds he himself had planted. “You are my brother and I love you. I ask you to forgive anything I said in my grief that let you believe otherwise; I was not myself after Mother was taken and I let-”

“Shut up,” Loki said neatly. “I didn't need _you_ to tell me what we are and are not to each other. This has got nothing to do with anything you said after Mother died.”

Well, that was _something,_ at least.

But not _much,_ because Loki went on: “But our history hardly even resembles that fiction you keep describing to the poor mortals who cross paths with you in here. Barkeep!” He gestured, and pushed another drink in Thor's direction. “To honesty.”

Thor drank it, staring. At first he had worried that it was all a dream and that Loki wasn't here after all, but now, he was starting to wonder whether it wasn't a nightmare instead, whether his mind had concocted something even _worse_ than the grief he felt already.

“We were _not_ mending fences,” Loki went on, “We were _not_ getting _back to normal –_ for which I am profoundly grateful, because _normal_ was a soul-killing torture for me that only got worse the longer it lasted. Do you understand me, Thor?”

Thor swallowed. “No,” he said at last. “I don't understand. Why have you shown yourself to me just to be cruel?”

Loki snorted. “Why not? I'm a god, not a saint.”

“What?”

Loki shrugged and sipped on his drink. “You're deriving _comfort_ from all this,” he explained, gesturing a little sloppily around the bar. “I think you really _believe_ the rosy little picture you paint for everyone. But it's not true. Why should you get to comfort yourself with it when it's a lie?”

Thor couldn't keep up with Loki on the best of days – even when he was sober. Now, though, the very best he could do was blink and say: “But you love lying.”

This time Loki spoke without anger – which somehow made it worse. “You know nothing about me. Stop pretending otherwise.”

“Brother-”

But that provoked a flare-up. “You never had a brother! And certainly not the adoring little shadow you think you remember. Stop mourning a fantasy.” Loki dug in his pocket. “And stop drinking so damn much; even an Asgardian liver is going to give out sooner or later. Barkeep.” He gave his orders, cold: “Keep pouring for him until he passes out. Once he's unconscious, call this telephone number, and his woman will come pick him up. This is payment for the liquor, and this for the inconvenience. Good night.”

“Loki,” he said, but Loki was already vanishing.

As it was the only gesture of appeasement still available, Thor drank what was put in front of him.

When he awoke the next morning (afternoon) in Jane's home with a terrible headache, he had no way to be sure that the meeting had ever taken place at all. He might have imagined it. He might also have imagined lying with his head on the bar, a dozen drinks later, while a cool hand rested on the back of his neck and someone leaned down to whisper _Goodnight, brother,_ into his ear.

*******************************************

The End.

Sorry, was away for the weekend.  Posting should resume now.

 


	21. Sucks to be Algrim

**A/N:   It sucks to be Kursed.**

* * *

Algrim was suffering.

He was happy – more than happy – to serve.  He knew that the best way to bring down Asgard’s defenses was to loose a Kursed warrior within its walls, and he knew that of all the warriors remaining to Malekith, with the possible exception of Malekith himself, he, Algrim, was the best.

But.  He had now been stabbed in the gut, for reasons not entirely clear to him.  The knife had hurt.  The kurse stone had hurt worse going in, and hurt even worse than _that_ coming out.  To add insult to injury, the stupid Asgardian guards had not even searched him when he was brought in; he could have just kept the stone in his pocket.

Malekith had apparently not wanted to take chances.  It was rumored that an elf had once tried to smuggle a kurse stone into a protected city by means of shoving it up his ass.  But he had quarreled with one of his friends, went the story, and half an hour outside the city gates had accidentally tensed up with anger hard enough to crack it open.  It was said he had killed his friends, and broke his own skull smashing mindlessly into the city walls when he could not attain his goal.

Malekith believed the story.  Algrim didn’t.   After all, if such a thing had happened, and the Kursed one had destroyed the raiding party he came with and then destroyed himself… who would have been left to tell the story in the first place?

But it was not his place to question, and anyway it would have been too late.  Once Malekith put a hole in his abdomen there was nothing much to do but let the stone be shoved into it.  Even though it hurt.

And it hurt worse now.  He held the stone in his hand and wondered if the transformation would hurt even more.  He suspected that it would.

Nevertheless, he did his duty.  He crushed the stone in his hand.

* * *

The pain did stop, at least, once the transformation was complete.   But he was still suffering – he wanted, he _needed_ , to destroy Asgard’s shields, to smash and tear and kill.  Every step he took without bones crunching underfoot was a torment and a waste; he _itched_ for battle.

He let warriors out of their cages so that he could have the joy of pulverizing them.  The commotion called guards, which he pulverized with even greater relish.

One prisoner, a pale Asgardian in the cell on the end, was watching him knowingly.  Trying to make contact.

But he was Kursed now, and he was not interested.  He had more important matters to attend, like getting the shields down so that his blood would stop boiling with the need.

 _But I’ll remember you,_ he thought at the pale prisoner.  _I have work to do but I will be happy to come smash you later._

The prisoner was clearly upset at having been ignored.  He called something out and Algrim ignored it.  He had to find the shield.  He needed it.  The pain had ended but he was still suffering.  _Find the shield._

* * *

**The End.**

**Yeah, it sucks to be Algrim.**


	22. Visiting Hours

**A/N: Loki in jail. Gets a visitor.**

* * *

The doors creaked open, and whoever stepped down the stairs did not  _clank._

Not a guard, then, or a prisoner. A visitor? Loki fought the urge to press up against the barrier and try to see.

"Mother?" he guessed. No – the footfall was too heavy. "Thor?"

When the visitor stepped into his line of vision Loki was, momentarily, at a loss for words. "You," he said at last.

"Who else would it be?" Odin snorted. "I have forbidden all others."

So  _that_ was why nobody had yet come to see him. He told himself he had never believed otherwise. "Keeping me all to yourself, are you?" He gave his maddest smile. "And here I never knew you cared."

"Do not take a tone with me, Loki."

"Or you'll what?" Loki laughed. "You've already ordered me locked away for the rest of my natural-... well..." He cocked his head. "Tell me something, Allfather: do you even know how long it's going to be? Do you have  _any_  idea how long  _we frost-giants_ tend to keep ticking?"

Odin's chin rose. "I have always had a son who didn't know when to shut his mouth," he said, heavy with warning now. "It did not used to be you."

"Yes, well, you used to have a son with a spine and his eye on the crown," he snarled back. "That didn't used to be me either." It felt good to sharpen his claws on  _someone_ ; he had been deprived of people to snarl at for weeks now.

But Odin had finally had enough. "Guards." He spoke softly over his shoulder, but the guard captain stepped up instantly. "After I've gone," he said, "The prisoner is to be whipped for his ill manners."

Loki gave a bitter smile. "Why thank you, Father. It's so good to know that you-"

" _And whipped again tomorrow._ "

He shut his mouth – for a second. He had  _just_ decided to open it again, when Odin continued: "With your powers of healing intact I could have it done every day until the end of time without worrying for you. If you show me disrespect again, that is what I will do."

Loki believed him, and kept his mouth shut.

When Odin was at last satisfied with the length and quality of the silence, he sent the guard away. "I should not let you goad me to anger," he sighed. "I had other things I wished to discuss with you."

He made himself calm down. "Such as?"

"Before long I will sleep, or die." Odin showed no emotion at all. "When that happens, I expect your mother will campaign as relentlessly with Thor as she has with me. He has less defense against it – he will eventually order your release."

Loki swallowed. "And is that… something you'll allow?"  _Or will you leave orders that I'm to be executed once you go?_

"Being asleep or dead, I don't see that I'll have much choice." Odin shrugged. "I wished to tell you in advance. Perhaps hope will drive away some of your bitterness. I feared for the realms, if you were unleashed on them as mad as you are now."

"Ah. I see." Before he could grow sarcastic again, Odin interrupted.

"To that end, I will allow your mother to begin visiting you before long. Provided you behave yourself."

"Being incarcerated, I don't see that I have much choice."  _Error. That was an error. He'll have you shredded for that._

But – perhaps in response to his look of panic – Odin let it pass. "If only," he sighed.

Loki ducked his head briefly. It was the nearest to an apology he would give.

"I will go now," Odin said. "But I'll return before long so that we can talk further."

"As you wish, Allfather."

Odin stepped away from the cell… but then paused. "Oh – and Loki. One thing more."

"Yes?"

"Please try to bear your beatings with grace. It's a rare son that can embarrass his father from within the bounds of solitary confinement, but I am afraid you, of all people, may find a way."

He tried to feel properly insulted. Reminded himself that the use of  _son_ and  _father_ did not matter. "As you wish, Allfather," he said again, and bowed. But he knew his tone of voice had gotten away from him, because Odin was smiling as he turned away.

* * *

**The End.**

**So... there aren't really a lot of non-evil-odin fics out there. Or at least, not a lot where he's simultaneously nonevil _and_ in-character. I did my best.**


	23. Post-Movie Depressathon

**A/N: Post-movie. Sad Thor. I'm sorry!**

* * *

After Father had bid him farewell – or, really, had  _not_ bid him farewell even though he plainly wished to, Thor went to visit one more place.

Or, he tried to. But he stopped outside the door of Loki's room and could not make himself enter; he had never been truly welcome in that place and had never, ever dared to enter it uninvited. He knocked – ridiculous, because Loki was dead. When no irritated voice granted him permission, he left.

He went instead to Loki's cell. For that, he had never needed permission. The other cells of the dungeon were crowded but that one sat completely open, unused. Probably until it was fumigated somehow, all traces of its former occupant erased, to make sure none of his corrupting influence remained.

Thor's heart twisted at the thought. These  _were_ the last traces of Loki, anywhere, and at this point they were all he would have. He opened the lock and stepped inside – all the way in. It was the first time he had done so; when he had freed Loki he had only waited by the door. He had thought it was because he didn't yet trust Loki enough to be in a closed space with him, but now, he was wondering whether the problem wasn't that he didn't like to feel the walls closing in on him like this. Thor had never been claustrophobic before, but this place was... small. Oppressive.

The walls still bore marks of spells gone wrong, failed explosions and burnings. Some of them were shaped like hands. He couldn't imagine what had made marks like that, unless Loki had attempted to actually set himself on fire. He put that image from his mind.

The blood on the floor had dried in dull brown streaks. At first he made to step over it – old blood was not a new sight to him; he cleaned it daily off his armor. But then he realized: this was  _Loki's_  blood, all that was left of Loki. Thor had left it there on the floor as if it didn't even matter. Hadn't even offered him a bandage.

His eyes filled unexpectedly. He went down to one knee and touched the stains, but they just flaked against his fingers the way old blood does. There was nothing there that could give him comfort. Loki was gone, there was nothing that could be done for him now – and at the time when there  _had_ been something, Thor hadn't done it.

_You can cry,_  Jane had told him, crying a little herself.  _People cry for their brothers, no matter how mad they were at each other. It's okay._

At the time he hadn't managed – he had been living with the knowledge that Loki was dead, or lost, for so long that the pain was nothing new to him. But this, now, was new. The realization that Loki had  _not_  been dead and maybe not even lost, not then... but now he was, and Thor could not even fairly weep and long for a second chance because in truth he had  _had_ his second chance already and he had failed – again. Failed even worse than before, because at least when Loki fell from the Bifrost it was with Thor's hands reaching for him and Thor's screams in the air. This time...

_I will kill you._  He remembered saying it – calm and steady. Had Loki believed him? The thought was sickening. He was going to be sick, right here, on the cell floor.

With effort he swallowed down his heaving stomach and dragged himself up over to the cot. A dirty, creaky thing, without Loki's magic to disguise it. Lumpy as well. He wondered if the illusion had made it any more comfortable to lie on. He suspected it had not.

He stared at the walls. Grief was crowding in on him.  _Loki_  was gone forever, and here in this little room the weight of it was going to crush him.

He had left Loki here alone to grieve Mother.

By the time he had cleansed himself of that thought, the broken furniture had been reduced to splinters and the burnt streaks on the walls were all lost in fresh bloodstains. He was surprised that his hands had given out before the walls had, but then, he supposed that as a prison this place was  _meant_ to withstand the tantrums of warriors who were mad and berserk.

Eventually his heart stopped pounding. His tears dried, his knuckles scabbed over. He felt lost and exhausted, and he wanted to go home but home was nowhere. Home was Mother's hand on his cheek or, in better days, Loki's shoulder pressed against his. Now where was he supposed to go?

His eyes fell on Loki's books – still stacked neatly on the rickety end table, the one piece of furniture Loki had seen fit to spare. The books were  _all_ stacked neatly, except for one, which rested on the others at an angle. Thor reached over to straighten it, and noticed a piece of paper sticking out.

He tugged at it. Maybe it was some notes on his reading – or a letter of complaint to the jailers – or a list of people he planned to kill – _something._ Something in Loki's own hand, something of Loki's thoughts, that he could keep with him.

It was all he had now. He had had  _everything_ , he had had Loki open his heart to him and call him  _brother,_  and he had spurned it and cast Loki away and now he would give  _anything_  for even a scrap of what had been offered.

He unfolded the paper, hands shaking.  _Thor:_ said the note.  _If you are reading this, it means that I am dead._

He dropped it on the floor, dizzy suddenly, gasping and wheezing but unable to take in air. It was a note  _for him._  Loki had left him a message.

When he could finally breathe again and see clearly, he picked it up.  _...it means that I am dead. Possibly killed trying to implement some idiotic plan of yours – or more likely, killed by you because you thought I was doing otherwise. To set straight the record: I was not._

He couldn't have devised a more devastating letter if he had tried. Thor had to put it down for a moment before he could continue.  _In any event, I'm sorry it didn't go as intended. I assume, if you are reading this, that you've been locked up for the treason you committed in letting me out. Father really isn't very free with his forgiveness – even for you._

He could hear Loki's voice, see Loki's smile. A bitter smile, of course, but he would take it.

_I am writing to let you know that I love you,_ Loki went on, and that part Thor could  _not_  imagine, because Loki would never say such things to him in seriousness. ... _despite what has happened between us recently. It is as it always was: you neglected and hurt me unknowing, and I bore it too long in silence, and when my patience ran out I exploded as I always do. The magnitude of my eruption this time frightened even me, and afterwards one thing led to another. I very much regret some of the things I have done._

Such a simple explanation, an apology obviously from the heart... this would have changed everything. If Loki had only been able to say such things to him earlier – before it was too late...

_If it matters to you, know that I went to my death wishing we had reconciled. I am sorry, brother, and I do love you and always have. Know that at least. -Loki._

He cried for a long time, without even the energy now to smash into the walls.

When he was done he folded the note back up again, and saw for the first time that there was something on the back: Loki had left a post-script. He rubbed his stinging eyes and blinked to focus.

_I cannot believe I just put such sentiment to paper,_  Loki wrote.  _Now, I shall have to survive, so that I can get back to the cell and destroy this note before you find it. In other words, brother, I may have just saved our lives, despite your best efforts to concoct a plan that will risk them. We shall see. -L_

Thor wasn't sure whether that made it worse or better. Either way, he cried again.

* * *

**The End.**

**Oh my god, this was SO MUCH MORE DEPRESSING than I had planned. My plan had been for Thor to stop by the cell and find a note, and Odin!Loki to come down just then to retrieve it, and in the ensuing argument Thor would realize who he actually was. But instead, this depressathon happened. I AM SO SORRY! Maybe I'll have to continue this one just to clean it up. Loki is sure going to be pissed when he comes down and finds that Thor actually got hold of the thing. (Or, maybe that's secretly what he wanted?)**


	24. Thor's Promise

**A/N: Thor and Loki, on the ridge in Svartalfheim discussing the plan.**

* * *

They looked down as the elves filed out of the ship. In rows. And then more rows.

Loki spoke first. "This is... perhaps going to be more difficult than we anticipated."

Thor could  _hear_  the reticence. The fear. "Are you afraid?" he said. In the schooled tone he had adopted for use with Loki these days, though, it sounded not like a taunt but like a question.

"Well of course I am; I'm not stupid," Loki snapped, and watched the elves a while longer. Then he said, into the silence: "But for the avoidance of all doubt: Thor, I release you from your promise."

"No," Thor said immediately, "Not a chance." Loki wanted to cancel their bargain? To back out after they had come so far? Thor would hear none of it – yes, Loki had originally promised only as far as the escape, but they had counted on him as part of the plan and he could not bow out now.

He glanced over, and caught Loki smiling.

"Stop it, Loki. This is not the time for jest."

"Jest?" The smile vanished. Loki blinked rapidly. "What do you mean?"

"I  _mean,_  I need you," he explained, almost a growl. "Do not even  _joke_ about canceling our bargain now."

"Our bargain," Loki repeated softly, looking down at the elves again. "I see." Thor waited, confused, for an explanation of why Loki suddenly looked like he might cry. "You thought I meant to back out."

"Did you not?" Thor thought over his words. "What other  _promise_  did I make you?"

Loki cleared his throat. "The cell," he said. "You said you would return me to the cell when this was over. And  _I_  am saying... you don't have to. If we can buy success with my life, we should do it."

For some reason he felt it like a punch to the gut. "Loki..."

"You've always complained that I drag you down in battles." Loki was smiling again now – but it wasn't a happy smile now, it was sharp. Twisted. "You say you could be so much more effective if you didn't have to worry about watching my back and keeping me safe. Now's your chance to prove it, Thor. Are you ready?"

He knew that this was just Loki's way: cruel and bitter words, absurd accusations of coldness and neglect, his own  _family_... but still. He could not let the comments pass. "Loki, you know I have no intention of buying victory with your life," he said.

"Why not?" He didn't sound bitter anymore – just calm. It was much worse. "What have I to lose? A couple of long lonely centuries by myself in a cage, brooding over all that's been taken from me? Thanks, brother, but I think I'd rather pass."

He must be misunderstanding. He must. "Pass, what do you mean,  _pass_? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it would be kinder to let me die here than to take me back," Loki said straight out. "So, why don't we say our farewells now, and then not plan for me to survive the battle."

Let Loki  _die_? He fought a sudden, overpowering urge to clasp Loki tight to him and  _forbid_ him to think such foolish thoughts. But that made no sense – they were not on such terms now, not anymore.

He finally said, as coolly as he could: "No. I promised to return you to your cell, and return you I shall."

Always before, he would have thought Loki heard what he did not say.  _I will not let you die,_  and, more importantly,  _I do not wish you dead._ But today, Loki just shrugged and went back to watching the elves. "We'll see."

* * *

The End.

(Yes, I sort of think Loki was being calculating here.)

Later this weekend, if my muse cooperates, I may post continuations for some of the one-shots in this series.


	25. Second-String Odin

**A/N: So I was contemplating the actual mechanics of the Great Odin Switcheroo. Did Loki pay him a giant bribe to disappear? Jump out from behind a column and conk him on the head? Trick him into crawling into a jar and slamming the lid… I seem to remember something about that in a Greek myth somewhere...**

* * *

"We found a body."

Odin swallowed. "Loki."

Loki nodded, doing his best to look sad.

" _Loki,_ " Odin repeated – and this time it was an accusation. Shit! How-? "Did you think I would not recognize you?" Odin hissed. "That I, Odin All-Father, could be deceived by a pathetic little illusion charm like the one you wear now?"

He faded back into himself. "Don't you insult my illusion charms; they come from Mother," he snapped.

Odin ignored that. "What is Thor planning?"

Loki shook his head. "I won't tell you that. Or where he is, or where he's going. Do what you like to me, but that is information I will not give up."

Largely because he didn't  _have_ it, but Odin didn't need to know that. Let Odin think he was showing strength for once. It would probably serve him better in the long run, by winning him a little respect.

Sure enough, Odin stood straighter and threatened him like an equal. "Loki, there is nothing now to protect you from death if you stand in my way. I will ask once more.  _What is Thor planning_?"

Odin wouldn't believe him now if he claimed not to know, so he might as well play defiance out as far as he could and see what happened. He raised his chin. "I'll never tell you."

Odin wavered, fell against the throne and sat down hard in it.

"Father? What-…?"

"It's nothing. It's nothing, I am… I am…"

He was slumping over, sliding from his seat. "You're falling asleep," Loki realized, and took the stairs three at a time. "What happened – did I upset you? All right, it's all right, I've got you."

"I'm… I am fine…"

"Of course you are." Loki held him around the waist and dragged him to his feet, then scooped him up like a bride. All he did was stir feebly and mumble in protest. "Fuck – Father?" No response. Fuck. The realm  _could not_ know about this. People would panic, and without Mother or Thor to calm things down there would be rioting and revolt. "Father – Odin.  _Odin_! Can you put it off? This is a bad time for Asgard's king to show weakness. Can you just… sit up and pretend, for a few more hours?"

More mumbling.

"Shall I take that as a no?"

It would be very bad if someone walked in and saw this – the king lying limp, with Loki the traitor standing over him. "All right, then we've got to get you out of here. Stay quiet." He threw an illusion over them, disguising them as a pair of guards, and carried Odin away.

He lay him down in the master bedroom and tried once more to rouse him. "Not that I don't want the throne, Father, because I do. But this is not exactly how I envisioned assuming command, and I don't think it's going to work. Can you wake up? At least long enough to assemble the court and tell them I'm to succeed you? Hello?" He  _needed_ Odin's public blessing, or there would be rebellion and bloodshed. On top of the threat of Malekith. And the threat of Thor, dangerous to begin with and now possibly in possession of the aether too.

Odin's eye finally opened. "They won't… follow you," he said weakly.

"Let  _me_ worry about that." He was not worried. A few heads would roll, and then people would see sense.

But Odin shook his head. "There would be chaos. They cannot know."

It took Loki a moment to realize what he was suggesting. "What, you- you want me to  _impersonate_ you?" he sputtered. "Aside from the problem that the penalty for such a thing is a death that turns even  _my_ stomach… Do you even think it would work?" He felt himself sneering. "Me with my substandard illusion charms."

"Yes. They're adequate."

Loki bit down on a bitter remark about how positively  _flattered_ he was and how Odin was so generous to praise him so highly. He had more important things to think about – practical things. He was getting the throne, if he could make this work. "Thor. Thor won't be easily fooled." He swallowed. "He disobeyed you outright in this; I assume you're not still planning for him to become king?"

Odin shook his head. It was hard to tell if he was even lucid anymore, but Loki wasn't about to press the issue. "Good, exactly," he went on. "So: how can I fool him? Do you have a, a password or something you can give me? Something he's said to you in private, that no one else would know?"

The eye was closed, but he had the impression Odin was listening. And he  _prayed_  that Odin was still awake enough to give him what he needed.

For a long while, nothing happened. Then, finally, Odin's tongue emerged to wet his old, dry lips. "Thor said… there would never be… a wiser king… than me."

Loki snorted. "Of course he did. And how very  _like you_  to remember it."

Odin's face quirked briefly into a frown, but his breaths were already deepening.

Loki cast an  _adequate_ illusion over himself and called Gungnir to his hand. It felt even less comfortable than he remembered.

But he would get used to it in time.

* * *

**The End.**

**I mean, how _did_ Loki know about that no-wiser-king comment?**


	26. Details of the Aether Plan

**A/N: Ironing out the details of the Aether Plan**

* * *

They picked their way along the ridge carefully, keeping out of sight of Malekith's ship. Thor was a bit nervous that they were approaching the spot and still had no working plan, but just before he became truly worried, Loki announced: "All right: I have a plan."

Thor made sure to show no relief. The Man of Iron had instructed him in the management of his brother: friendship would only backfire; cruel taunting was the only way Loki would want to hold conversation with him.  _Give as good as you get,_  Stark had advised.  _This may sound crazy to a nice guy like you, but trust me, he'll appreciate it._ So, he smiled and employed the most sarcastic tone he had: "I have high hopes – your last few plans have all met with such admirable success."

Loki snorted and met his eyes. "Low blow, brother," he complained, and some color had come to his cheeks… but he was smiling.

"What is your plan?"

Loki gave an overblown wince. "Now… I hate to ask this, but this one is going to require a bit of trust."

"No." He did not even have to think about it.

Suddenly Loki was no longer fond or tolerant. "Hear me out  _first,_ " he snarled, "And act like an arrogant ass  _afterwards._  Can you manage that, do you think?"

He frowned. He was  _not_  an arrogant ass! "Go on."

"I assume you want to call down the lighting just as Malekith draws the aether out into the open. Yes?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely determined to do that, even if I think there's a better idea?"

One which would leave  _Loki_ in possession of the aether instead? Ha. "Absolutely."

"I thought so. All right." Loki heaved a sigh. "Then, for that you need to be close to him. I suspect Malekith is still rather annoyed at Asgard – and Bor's line specifically – for killing off his people, which means if he gets hold of you he won't want to kill you quickly outright. He'd rather leave you alive to watch the destruction of everything you love."

The cold, dispassionate way he said it made Thor's skin crawl.

"So, he'll  _let_ you be close to him. Good. He obviously won't take chances with you leaping up to oppose him, though, which means he'll likely want to do you great violence first."

Thor shrugged. "I can take it."

"I should just let you," Loki snorted. He rolled his eyes. "But, because after everything you're still my brother and I love you… or, perhaps,  _because our likelihood of success drops dramatically if you're fighting injured, you idiot_ … I'll use illusion instead. We'll make Malekith  _think_  you are wounded before we turn you over to him."

That  _did_ sound much better. "But what of Jane?" he said. "It takes all my attention to call the lighting as powerfully as we're planning; I cannot protect her at the same time. And I do not trust  _you_ to-"

"Mother  _died_  to keep her safe," Loki snarled, kicking at her. She stirred feebly in her sleep and continued to mumble. "This pathetic creature. But I won't make Mother a failure. If it costs my life I won't. Will you believe me  _that_ far, at least?"

Thor swallowed. He  _wanted_  to trust, and did not, but had no way of knowing whether it was prudence or stubbornness holding him back.

When he couldn't answer, Loki eventually looked up. His smile was crooked and his eyes were bright. "Well, do you have any better ideas?"

Thor did not.

* * *

**The End.**

**Ok, next one will probably be a continuation of one of the earlier chapters. I have some stuff in the works...**


	27. Fandral Teases

**A/N: Muse continues to distract me with little tidbits so I can't write what I planned to. Sorry! This one is Loki & Fandral in the flying boat.**

* * *

"I see your time in the dungeon has made you no less graceful, Loki!" Fandral was cheery and friendly as ever. But the fall hadn't exactly been comfortable, and no one was offering to help him up, and he didn't feel like playing the good sport.

"What if I told you," he said slowly – from the floor, staring past Fandral's knees without looking up at him – "That what  _you_  may consider harmless teasing,  _I_  perceive as a personal attack and always have?"

Fandral didn't answer, and just when Loki was getting ready to look up at his face, something grabbed him under the arm and hauled him to his feet. "He would tell you to sit down and steer the ship, that's what," Thor growled, and shoved him down roughly by the steering-stick. "Now do as you promised. Take us to your secret path."

"As you wish, Thor." Dripping with hate.

After a moment Fandral came closer and stood over him. "What happened to you, Loki? You've changed."

"No." Loki finally did look up at him, and he looked  _serious_  and even concerned. But it was far too little and much too late. " _This_  was always here," he said, indicating himself with a jerk of his head. "The rest was illusion. That quiet little mouse that followed you people around without a thought in his head beyond pleasing Thor? Illusion. Gone, and not returning."

"Mm. I see." Fandral was staring hard at him, and for some reason he had to drop his eyes. (He was steering, that was all! Of course he couldn't be bothered to play staring contest with an idiot.)

Then Fandral bent down and spoke into his ear. "Well, if you see  _that quiet little mouse_ anywhere, tell him that I miss him and convey my apologies if I've offended. And also…" He rose and said the last bit loudly enough for the whole boat to hear. "Perhaps you might consider asking him to resume charge of grooming you. Your hair was never this much of a mess, before. And you didn't smell so bad."

There! At long last, Fandral had dropped all pretense of friendliness. His tone was no longer jolly; for the first time, his taunting was cold and harsh. Just as Loki had always thought.

Oddly, having proved himself right didn't bring Loki the satisfaction he was expecting.

* * *

**The End.**

**This one was a shortie. I may be able to post again tonight.**


	28. Chat with Guard

**A/N: Loki chats with a guard in jail.**

* * *

Someone clanked up to his cell, and Loki didn't raise his head. Guards had been by to stare at him several times a day, and while at first it had made him feel exposed and uncomfortable, by now he was learning to ignore it.

He turned a page and kept reading. The guard didn't move.

After a bit he turned another page, and this time only  _pretended_  to read. In fact, he was peeking out of the corner of his eye, to make sure the guard wasn't doing or plotting anything objectionable.

The guard still didn't move. Eventually, after pretending his way through another few pages, Loki put the book in his lap and looked up. "Yes?"

The guard saluted. "Forgive me, my Prince, for disturbing you. And for my forwardness. But: may I speak with you?"

He had no idea what the man wanted, and that made him nervous. "You seem to be," he said, with a chilly smile.

"Er-.  Yes.  I'd like to ask you a question, Prince. If you'll allow it."

Interesting. "You may ask," Loki decided. "Though I'm not promising to answer."

"Thank you, Prince." The guard stood straight. "When the Allfather passed sentence on you he said  _if I had not taken you in._  I wondered what he meant by that. If you would tell me."

Loki set the book aside and stood up. Came as near to the barrier as he could bear. "That  _is_ awfully forward. I thought guards were supposed to be blind and deaf to what goes on when they attend Odin at a private meeting."

"We are." The guard swallowed. "But I wasn't there to attend Odin. I was there to attend you."

"Mm. True enough." Loki still had not decided what to say, so he played for time. "And have you all been gossiping about it since? About what Odin said to me?"

"No, my Prince. To my knowledge no one has spoken of it – or even noticed."

"But it's been eating away at  _you_.  _You_  noticed. Why?"

The guard was still standing at attention and Loki didn't tell him to relax.  _If I have to be uncomfortable, so does he._  "Because I have heard words to that effect my entire life," he said steadily. "My true father died in battle when I was very young, and my stepfather has never let me forget it."

"Ah." Still he hesitated.

But what was he going to do – deny it? Claim Odin as his kin? Disgusting. "Mine as well," Loki said at last. "Died in battle. Odin hacked through my homeworld when I was a baby and decided for some reason to adopt me. Only, he neglected to mention as much until two years ago. As I'm sure you can imagine, the truth came as something of an unpleasant surprise." The guard didn't speak right away, and in the silence Loki felt compelled to add: "I  _am_ royalty." Then he shrugged. "Just, not..." He spread his hands.

"What are you?" the guard asked softly. "Vanir?" And then he looked horrified with himself. "Forgive me, my Prince. I did not mean to pry."

Loki waved off the apology. "Think larger, and colder, and much more blue." There was no point trying to conceal it now; basic math would have let him figure it out anyway. "What war did you say your father died in?"

The guard didn't answer, but his eyes were widening and that was answer enough. Loki stayed silent and just  _watched,_  as the man's awkward formality transformed into something much more satisfying: fear and shock... mixed with fascination. He guessed the next question before it came.

"Your Royal Highness. Could I ask-"

"No." Loki cut him off. Grinned at his look of startlement. "You want to see what your father saw just before a blade of ice took his head, don't you," he guessed. "You want to stand face to face with the monster."

A slow, fearful nod.

Loki almost wanted to oblige. The respect people showed him as the younger son of Odin, the  _little brother_  of Thor, had never satisfied him. It had felt halfhearted at best, and sometimes outright condescending. But this was... real. He liked it. Did he like it enough to transform himself into one of those  _things_ and let himself be gaped at? He was not sure.

"Not today," he declared at last. "But I will think about it. You may ask again tomorrow."

The guard could hear that he was dismissed. He bowed – too nervous, now, to take his eyes off Loki as he did, and backed away from the cell. "Thank you, Your Highness."

No more  _my Prince_ out of this one! But that was all right; Loki had never gotten much out of being Asgard's prince anyway. Foreign royalty, an alien before whom it was proper to cringe and cower... he might like this better. He would consider it.

* * *

**The End.**

**BTW, this was the second update today – and neither is what I'd intended to write! It's like my brain is punishing me for attempting to have a plan.**


	29. Chat with Guard II

**A/N: Continuation of chapter 28 (Chat with Guard).**

* * *

The guard actually did come back the next morning. Loki felt a smile tugging at his face: he was glad to see him.

… He was  _glad_. To see one of his  _jailers._  Glad for even that scrap of company – and the tiny pitiful sop to his pride.

Was he so easily bought?

He hated the thought, and fought back hard. "Have you nothing better to do than court me?" The cold mocking tone came easy. Unfortunately, he couldn't even  _pretend_ it was the guard he was disgusted with; he knew exactly who he was  _really_  looking down on and the knowledge did nothing to improve his mood. "Why have you come – are you hoping I'll invent you some more stories?"

The guard blinked. "Invent?"

"You didn't  _really_ think I was Jotun, did you?" He laughed. "You know what they are. Did you actually think the Allfather would have raised one of those beasts in his house – with his  _son_?"

This time the guard was silent.

"I was  _lying_  to you," Loki said. He was lightheaded with hate and he loved every second of it. "It's what I  _do_."

The guard shifted. Frowned. "No. Your Highness, I believe that you... can show me what you said. And I want to see."

Now, that reminded him of Thor. Stubbornly refusing to believe the worst of him, insisting that all was well when it was not. Painting some rosy picture and then refusing to see the ugly truth.

"And you think seeing would  _help_?" He could feel the malice rolling off himself. "Look at you, grovelling before some prisoner for scraps – imagining what? That it will forge some sort of  _connection_  with this father you long for? Give you back what you've lost?" With the harshest, most crushing sneer he had... and still the guard didn't look  _quite_  crushed enough to satisfy him. So he went on. "You want to see what he saw... imagine yourself in his place. But why - do you think that would  _impress_ him? He saw a bit more than one lone beast shut up safe in a cage, I'd think."

That seemed to draw blood – good. He watched the guard breathe deep for a few minutes and win back control. Eventually the man managed; Odin's warriors were well-trained, after all.

"I don't know what he would think," the guard said evenly, "Because as I told Your Highness yesterday he died when I was a baby. I just wanted to see. That's all. If you won't allow it, then you won't. Forgive me for disturbing you." He saluted and turned away.

Loki choked down a sudden burst of panic. That was  _it_? His only visitor, his only conversation, was about to walk out and there was no guarantee that he would ever return. This wasn't Thor, who could be savaged over and over again and would still come back for more (until, suddenly, he  _didn't_.). If he drove the guard away now he might not get another chance.

Unacceptable. Loki might be proud, but he wasn't stupid. "Guard: stop," he snapped. The guard stopped.

But he certainly wasn't going to  _apologize._  He swallowed. "Ask again tomorrow."

* * *

**TBC. (There will be one more part of this, posted tonight or tomorrow.)**


	30. Chat with Guard III

**A/N: Continuation of Chapter 29. This is Chat with Guard part III.**

* * *

Two days ago Dagr had found the prisoner receptive to his overtures, and yesterday he'd gotten sawn off at the knees. The only difference he could see was his approach: the first time he'd waited politely by the cell for Loki to acknowledge him, but yesterday he'd stepped straight up without giving Loki a chance to choose his moment. Maybe that was it? Maybe Loki didn't like to be come upon unawares; he didn't have much privacy at all down here and maybe any encroachment was hard to swallow.

So this time, when the big doors were opened for him Dagr stepped in, let them close behind him, and paused at the top of the stairs. "Prince Loki?" he called down. "May I come speak to you?"

A long silence. Then…

A  _growl._  A deep, rumbling noise that came from no Asgardian chest. He froze.

Then it  _spoke._  The tone was soft, as if the creature meant to speak quietly, but the sound was loud and echoed through the dungeon. A grating, gravelly sound. " _Wait._ "

Dagr made himself answer. "Yes, Your Highness."

He waited, a while, and could hear a whooshing noise that must be the creature's breaths. Dying things breathed like that. So did fat sleeping things, just before they started to snore.

(It was a wonder frost-giants managed to sneak up on anything. And yet they  _had_. Or so Dagr had been told. He wondered if perhaps he had been lied to... And then he realized that he had been mis-imagining Jotunheim, picturing vast  _silent_ wastelands, when really he should be imagining whistling wind and crackling ice. Noisy. No wonder the giants weren't quiet; they wouldn't be able to hear one another at a softer volume.)

It had been some time. He tried again. "Prince Loki?"

Again: " _Wait._ "

Then some sounds of movement, and some gasping and grunting, and a moment later Loki's voice – his old, familiar voice – floated down the corridor. "I'm afraid I've changed my mind," Loki said. "You may come down now."

Damn. Well, at least he now knew for certain that Loki could, if he chose, grant his request. After yesterday he hadn't been sure; the younger prince really was a known liar and insane to boot. And it was such a good point: what  _had_ Odin been thinking, to raise a giant up next to his boy?

Loki was standing stiff by the barrier, feet apart, hands by his sides. He looked like he was gearing up for a fight. "What will you do," he said, "If I give you what you ask for?"

Dagr shrugged. "Just look."

"Will you tell anyone?"

"No."

"Will you do violence?" He sounded more curious than concerned.

"No. Not unless… you try to do violence to me."

Loki's posture changed: he put his legs together and relaxed his shoulders, rolling them back so that he could clasp his hands behind him. He no longer looked dangerous now, just… prim. He tilted his head, arched his eyebrows, and looked around at his cage. "How exactly do you imagine I would do that – in any form?"

"I, I don't. I'm just saying, Your Highness. If you don't attack me, I won't attack you. Regardless of… what you look like."

Loki frowned. "It's not a matter of  _look like,_ " he snapped. "It's not an illusion. I'm happy to  _look like_  any form you choose: see?" He tossed his head and suddenly was a female. Then an elf. Then a… Dagr had no idea what. Then a Jotun, just for a moment.

"See?" Loki said, looking like himself again. "That was illusion. I have no hesitation about wearing glamours of any shape whatsoever. But what you ask is… different."

Dagr nodded. He could grasp the distinction, he supposed, though it certainly didn't seem as significant as Loki was making it sound.

" _No one_  has seen me in-…" Loki stopped abruptly and took a slow breath. "No one has seen what you're asking for," he said instead. "Including me."

He sounded hesitant – unsure. And the minute he  _realized_ it, said a sudden flash of intuition, he would turn nasty again and try to scare his visitor away.

So Dagr kept his face blank and polite. "Would Your Highness like a mirror?"

Loki blinked. "Yes… yes, I would," he said at last. (With determination. It didn't sound like he would  _like_ it at all.). "My thanks."

Dagr could count on one hand the times any of the royal family had seen fit to  _thank_ him for anything. Generally, whatever he did was his duty – that was all.

He bowed briefly. "You're welcome, Your Highness. Er… I can't put a mirror into your cell. Nothing can be put in there besides the furniture that's there already."

"Clearly," Loki said, crisp. "Or else I would just be able to conjure a mirror myself."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

Loki was frustrated with him, he could tell that. Because he was slow. Well, he had never claimed to be the prince's intellectual equal, and if Loki was  _bored_ with his company he had only to say so. "I'll get a mirror and set it up here in the hallway."

"Yes, do that."

"And then… I'll come back tomorrow?"

Loki made a stiff little motion before he turned away. Dagr took it as a nod.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Sorry, it will be one more bit before this is wrapped up. And now the guard has a name. Yay guard!**


	31. Chat with Guard IV - the end

**A/N: This is the end of the Chat with Guard chapters. (And, it's the second update today. Make sure you didn't miss this morning's.)**

* * *

Loki stood scowling at his reflection. His true reflection. It was a lie, he knew that, but until he'd let his glamour fall he had no idea how  _much_  of a lie.

He was beyond skinny these days; one would almost say  _skeletal._  His hair (which hung almost to his shoulders; did they plan to  _never_  allow him to cut it?) was matted. Knots, dirt, dried blood. Very attractive.

"Hello? Guards?" he said cautiously, but there was no answer and nothing stirred. When he was confident he was alone, he stripped off his plain linen clothes and took a long hard look at himself naked.

More bones. Some broken and healed in lumps… some broken and yet unhealed at all. Midgard's green beast had done an excellent job. He found himself very grateful that in the time between his capture and his binding he'd thought to heal up some of his more grievous injuries; his skull had been cracked and some of the injuries done his insides might have eventually killed him.

He poked at a lumpy rib. If only he'd had the energy to fix that too. It still pained him to take deep breaths, which was one of the reasons he had thrown less tantrums down here than expected.

The bruising was spectacular, a rainbow whose like (even after a childhood of "scuffles" with Thor) Loki had never seen before. Patches of browns and deep reddish-purples, the pink of scrapes and scars, black and blue spots without number. Some yellow and green parts, as well – he  _was_  healing. Would heal fully in time, especially if they took to feeding him a little better and relaxing the stranglehold on his magic. He looked at the injuries for a while, glad to  _see_ them finally, to prove to himself that all his pain was not imaginary.

But. Dwelling on his injuries was not what he was here for.

After having touched the Casket of Ancient Winters and having felt it transform him, melting away what he had always considered to be his  _self_ … Loki knew what to do. He could do it. The only question was: would he?

First, he threw on a careless Jotun-shaped glamour. He waved at himself in the mirror, struck poses, made a face. That much was nothing new. (He had done it a hundred times as a child, leaping onto Thor's bed in the middle of the night with a growl and a burst of frost, scaring him half to death. A few times he had even gotten Thor to piss himself. It was great fun, but it had had to stop once Thor got big enough to break his nose with a single flailing, panicked punch.)

It wasn't his  _looks_  that were a problem. He dropped the spell and stood for another moment au naturel, hugging himself with his skinny arms and telling himself sternly that it was about time to find a way to start exercising in here.

But. Dwelling on his poor physique was not what he was here for either. In a few minutes that damned curious guard would be visiting, and if Loki wanted his continued attention, he would probably have to oblige him. He took a breath and finally just  _did_ it.

The change didn't hurt or frighten him; he had done it just yesterday. But still. To actually  _see_ it, to see himself change into that  _creature_  and have it feel… not like a glamour, a deception he pulled on over himself for protection, but… feel  _real_ …

"Hello," he whispered. Or-… tried to whisper. Damn, the voice was loud.

The thing waved its hard bony hand at him. He could hear creaking as he moved, and when he turned to see why he heard his neck creak too. Hmm. He touched the blue ( _shell_ ) skin and it felt hard and smooth – ah. A thin layer of ice was springing up all over him, moisture freezing on him right out of the air. This was not Jotun air.

He creaked his way back around to look in the mirror. Just  _looking_  was not so bad – it hardly seemed real, did not seem like himself. This giant's skin had less ridges than most he had seen. Its eyes were that deep ( _blood_ ) ruby red that was so disconcerting in battle.

It was bony, but Loki couldn't discern any bruises. Unless those darker patches…?

He leaned a little closer, and accidentally put his face too near the barrier. In this form the burn was  _agonizing,_  not just the unpleasant little buzz he was used to, and he yelped and stumbled away clutching at himself.

It was at that moment, of course, that the big dungeon doors opened. He swore and answered the guard's careful greeting with a deep hearty " _Wait_."

He would admit – grudgingly – that there was something to be said for the Jotun voice box. The guard stopped in his tracks and stammered apologies.

Loki knew that he was breathing hard with the pain, and before long the guard asked him whether everything was all right.

"Yes," he growled. "I just burned myself on the wards." He had to speak slowly, or the echo made his words unintelligible. "Give me a moment."

"Of course, Your Highness. I'm sorry." After a bit the guard added: "Can I get you anything?"

Loki snorted. "What – ice?" The Jotun laugh was… terrifying. He stopped fast and told himself not to do it again. By now the pain was becoming manageable, so he straightened up and came close to the mirror again. (But not, of course,  _too_ close.) The blue face was still steaming, but even as he watched, the last of the dark splotches were clearing up. Jotuns healed fast, evidently. Magic or not.

"All right," he said. "You may come down."

The guard descended the stairs slowly, made his usual little bow, and came right up to the cell. Swallowing hard. "I've never… seen one up close before."

Loki held still and let him stare. "Now you have."

The guard's head tilted. "Is it… different?"

He wouldn't  _mind_  it nearly so much, if it weren't. "Yes."

"Strange?"

"Very." He backed away and gave himself some space. Turned away.

Before long the guard spoke up again. "They say Jotuns are huge, and stronger than we are."

"I understand I am small for a frost-giant." Loki bent and swiped lazily at his table. It flew across the cell and shattered against the wall. "Apparently still strong, though."

"They say Jotuns can… make… clubs of ice."

A slightly trickier request. Loki held up an arm and closed his eyes. He remembered what it  _looked_  like, the ice growing up around the giants' hands. He wouldn't have been able to name a  _muscle_  that did it, or a particular  _spell_ , but…

When he tried, the ice bloomed effortlessly. He opened his eyes and stared at his hand – or, rather, his  _club._  "Apparently  _they_  are correct," he rumbled. He tried to flex his hand, and frowned. "Do they say how a Jotun can get rid of his ice club?" He turned, eyebrows arched. (Or, they  _would_ have been arched, if Jotuns had eyebrows. Did they have some other kind of expectant expression?)

"Er-. No, Your Highness. Sorry. Maybe it just… melts?"

Loki sighed and shook his arm around. "This is going to make reading very difficult." He left the laughter to the guard, because his own was so unpleasant to listen to, and then tried smashing his hand against the wall. Ice flew, and he was able to flex and shake away the remaining pieces. "Much better."

The guard's eyes were still glued to him, and now he was starting to feel self-conscious. "Have you seen all that you wished to see?" he asked at last.

"I, um, yes, Your Highness. I would watch longer if you'd let me, but, but yes. I've seen. Thank you." The guard started to move away, but paused after just half a step. "Are you being fed enough? Is it… even the right food? No one knows that you're… you know."

Loki shrugged. "I am constantly hungry."

"Well that's-." The guard heaved a sigh. "You should have  _said_  something. I'm happy to bring you extra."

He shrugged again – feeling a little defensive now, for some reason. "I imagine that if Odin wanted me well fed he would have said so."

The guard's turn to shrug. "I don't need to go to His Majesty about this at all. We tell the kitchen how many portions to send down every day, and no one actually counts to see whether it matches the number of prisoners. When I'm on duty, I'll request an extra from now on."

"Mm," Loki rumbled, and ducked his head. "I thank you."

"Not a problem, Your Highness."

Loki changed back then. He took a moment longer with his glamour than was strictly necessary, so that the guard could get an eyeful of what condition he was  _really_  in, and then pulled the tidy illusion up and straightened his illusory buttons. "Honestly," he said. "Thanks."

The guard bowed. Polite, respectful.

_Stupid._  "You know you're an idiot," Loki said suddenly. He couldn't help himself. " _Everything_ in this castle is politics, everything is noticed, you are being tested by someone every day of your life. And you, right now, are failing."

"Failing how?"

"This." He gestured between them. "That." To the mirror. "You're doing favors for a, a-… well, you saw!"

The guard didn't answer.

"Allow me to-… what's your name?"

"Dagr."

"Allow me to give you a piece of advice, Dagr. You should throw your support to the  _victor._  Don't make friends with failures. Or monsters." His voice shook on that last one. He was going to  _kill_  himself for that.

The guard – Dagr – was silent for a while. (Loki wondered whether he'd actually managed to get rid of his visitor after all.) Finally he nodded. "Thank you for the warning, Your Highness," he said. "But I don't think I am."

* * *

**The End.**

**Ok, done with the guard. And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.**


	32. Loki & Jane AU plan, part II - the end.

**A/N: Continuation of Chapter 11 – Loki & Jane AU plan.**

**Guys, I am sorry about this! It was originally heading for light and silly loki/jane quasi-sex ("Do you have any idea how insulting it is when I do something like that for you and then all you can say is _Malekith_?" "You have two choices, Loki. Shut up and do it again, or shut up and let me go to him. Either way, shut up."), but then I edited that out for ratings reasons and instead, this dark disturbing fic sprung up to take its place. Sorry! The only upside is, I got to write some possessed!jane, which was fun**.

**WARNINGS: Violence, but you don't see the graphic stuff. Refs to sexual acts with unspecified - but possibly substandard - levels of consent.**

* * *

Some time later Loki cleared his throat. "Silence is not helping," he murmured, as they took a sharp turn.

Jane glared up at him, still sprawled out on the floor. "I hate you."

"You can still talk to me."

She swallowed. "He's really messing with my head. I thought I wanted to screw you."

He didn't even look in her direction. "There may still be time for that."

"Screw you!"

Loki laughed, and just then whipped the ship around a tall pillar of rock and took off in another direction. "Is it helping that we're putting some distance between us?"

"No," she whispered to the floor. It wasn't helping. Malekith was calling. She was on fire with want; her thoughts were disintegrating. She tried to catalog. "I'm annoyed with you. Hungry. Other than that he is  _all I can think of._ " Her own voice scared her; it was shaking with emotion she knew she wasn't really experiencing. "I can feel I'm falling apart. I won't be this rational for much longer."

"Mm." Finally he glanced down at her – for just a moment, not really long enough to be read. "Your mind is wasted on Thor," he sighed, "And his simplicity is going to drive you mad. On an unrelated note: I'm concerned that the damage he does you will be permanent."

She tried to understand. "Thor?"

"No. Malekith. Hang on." Another sharp turn. Loki twisted over his shoulder to look at the elf ship. "I have no idea what effects his pulling will have on your tiny little mortal mind."

Suddenly she thought of Erik. Months later, and despite pills by the handful and a team of top-notch doctors he still couldn't even hold a coherent conversation. "Well – make him stop!" she gasped, yanking at the chain between them. "Loki! Let's, let's go to him. Or  _something_. We can't just sit here and let my mind be destroyed!  _Loki_!"

"I hear you," he said. Totally calm. "But we've got bigger problems. They've deployed their smaller ships and I can't outmaneuver those."

Fear helped focus her a little. "What are we going to do?"

"Abandon this ship and hide among the rocks," he said, without slowing their speed. "My magic will help. Open your mouth."

She did, confused, and he looked away from the road (sky?) just long enough to conjure something with his free hand and toss it to his left. She realized half a second in advance that it was a cloth and he was going to gag her with it, but before she could close her jaws again his fingers were between them and he was stuffing the cloth in. Both her hands yanking at his wrist were not strong enough to stop him, and he locked his legs around her so that she couldn't even try to scramble away. Once he'd gotten the whole rag in a blast of magic sealed her mouth shut around it and now she couldn't even snarl that she hated him.

"Sorry," he said, "But we can't have you calling out to the elves when they catch up. Landing now; hold on."

He braked suddenly, and when the ship slowed he let go of the steering stick and stood up, dragging Jane with him.

He wrapped both arms around her – an uncomfortable twist, given the cuffs – and said into her ear: "Oh, did I say landing? Sorry, I meant:" and jumped out of the ship.

With the stupid magic gag she couldn't even scream right, though she tried, and she squeezed her eyes closed  _knowing_ that the fall was going to kill her. But it didn't; the landing jarred like an old roller-coaster but when it was done she took stock and realized she was unharmed. She replayed what seemed to have happened: Loki took the landing on his feet and rolled, at least three or four times judging by how dizzy she was, but he'd stayed curled around her and she hadn't even touched the ground.

Now he was lying flat on his back, stirring weakly and swearing.  _You okay?_  she wanted to say, except she  _couldn't_ because of his stupid magic.

( _Malekith was waiting for her. The shackles were a problem but if she could find something sharp she could cut Loki's stupid hand off and run. It didn't matter that she had no idea where she was; Malekith would find her. He would swoop down and take her away and-_ )

"I'm all right. I assume you are as well?" Loki was getting up.

She pulled on the chain.  _Let me go._

"Is he still interfering?"

Interfering was such a negative way of looking at it. He was still...  _there._  She could feel his want and it felt just like hers. He was home.

Loki heaved a sigh and started moving among the rocks, yanking her after him without much gentleness. (He did lengthen the chain between them a bit, which at least meant she could walk without  _touching_ him, but still.) "I'll take that as a yes. I'll find us a hiding spot first, then see if I can help you shake him off."

She didn't  _want_  to shake him off; she wanted to go to him and hold him and keep him glued tight to her forever. But given the gag she couldn't exactly  _say_ so, so she just shut up and let herself be dragged along.

"This will do. Get inside." He pushed her into a cave and stepped in after her. Did something with his arms that she recognized as magic, and then suddenly the mouth of the cave was shimmering. "Illusion," he explained. "They'll walk right by this and see only solid rock. It won't pass a more stringent examination once Malekith comes himself and can sense you, but if his minions miss us on the first pass it will buy some time."

She glared.  _I hate you._

"Now. Let's see what we can do about your little problem." He came close to her, much too close, and she realized all over again how  _tall_  he was and how powerful. He'd be fairly terrifying even if she  _wasn't_ chained up and gagged and half-crazy and alone. But she was.

"Sit down."

When he yanked, she had to. She knelt, and he sat cross-legged opposite her, and she tried to be glad that at least he wasn't towering over her anymore.

"There are spells I could try that might protect you," he began. "But I stress  _might._  And I am concerned that if I meddle with your little mind and it winds up damaged – by me  _or_ by Malekith – I'll be blamed. Thor will have my head. So." He spread his hands, which of course almost pitched her over sideways. "I am  _not_ going to use my seidr to tamper with you."

She could hardly pay attention, because she was so busy fighting the urge to leap up and charge for the door. Not that it would help anyway, considering this condescending ass had  _chained_ himself to her.

"Instead we'll do something much simpler." He smiled at her, and  _that_ got her attention all right and not in a good way. "Malekith is apparently co-opting your desire, your capacity to  _want._ " A yank on the chain sent her barreling into him, and she found herself gathered up into his lap despite her best attempts to struggle. "Two can play at that game, don't you think?"

* * *

It didn't take Thor very long to break out of jail. Walls were not meant to contain Mjolnir, and Odin had shown surprisingly little interest in devising a more effective means of incarceration. Perhaps he had come to realize the wisdom of Thor's plan.

(Or, perhaps he was so convinced that existence would end that he simply no longer cared.)

In any event, Thor broke free of the palace as soon as the guards turned their backs. He smashed his way into Heimdall's cell and got Heimdall's best approximation of directions – he had seen flashes, he said, of Loki and Jane. But Loki was now concealing them with magic, and he did not know exactly where they were.

Still, staying in Asgard was certainly not going to help, so Thor went after them anyway. He retraced the path Loki had set out of the city. When he got to the place where he had been unceremoniously  _pushed_  from the boat, he spared a moment to glare down, but his flight did not slow. He had seen Loki fly the craft into a small crack in the wall up ahead, and he would need all of his height and speed to reach it.

He found the crack. He followed the path. He found himself spit up into Svartalfheim in the middle of nowhere, with no living creature to be seen.

Still, he knew he was on the right track: a faint smell of burnt fuel told him that an Asgardian ship had passed this way. He swung Mjolnir and took flight in the direction that Heimdall had suggested.

He found the broken Asgardian ship. He would have worried, but as he flew he had seen elves prowling, hunting, and he knew that Loki and Jane had not yet been caught.

(He was very glad, now, that Jane was in Loki's care. Thor might  _trust_  his friends more than his brother, and certainly they would be quicker to lay down their lives in Jane's defense if the situation required it, but... if he had to choose one person in all the realms to simply  _keep Jane alive_ , by fair means or foul... it would be Loki.)

Likely it was magic that kept them hidden. Thor decided to call out, quietly so that the elves wouldn't hear him… but as an added precaution he didn't use words, but instead the whistling code that he and Loki had devised together as children. As it echoed through the rocks it would be less noticeable to strangers than speech.

He heard an answering whistle, and picked his way across the rocks to follow it. The wind made it hard to pinpoint the source of the sound, but before too long he found a place where the rocks smelled of Loki's magic and when he held very still he could hear, faint and muffled: "Thor's coming. Hush. I won't let him have you."

What?

He slapped against the rocks until one was not real, and he tumbled through an illusion into the cave behind.

Jane was there. But-

She was standing upright against the far cave wall, spread-eagled,  _bound that way_. Her Midgard trousers were pushed halfway down her thighs and Loki knelt in front of her, with his hand-

" _AAAGH!_  " Thor had crossed the cave in two huge strides, bellowing before he could remember that they were supposed to be quiet. He seized Loki by the shoulder and threw him against a wall, and before he could recover, fell on him for true.

* * *

She was twisting, twisting, twisting. It was hurting her wrists; the magical cuffs had been comfortable at first but now she was scraping determinedly against them and pulling until her actual  _bones_  ached.

Still she couldn't get free. Malekith was  _near_ ; he could  _find_  her, if only she could call out to him.

Maybe she could find a way. The rag in her mouth had started to come unstuck; Loki had loosened his magic seal when she'd had trouble breathing, and now, if only she could focus hard enough to put her tongue to use, she could spit it out. She fought. Worked her jaw against the binding, blew with all her strength, pushed and pushed.

Her lips came apart suddenly and the rag went flying. " _Help me!_ " she shrieked. "I'm here, I'm in here, come get me –  _help me_!"

A movement in the corner caught her eye, and she recognized Thor – kneeling with his back to her, straddling something, where he'd been for a while now actually, pounding down punches that shook the floor. But her screaming had gotten his attention, and he was getting up, all spattered and smeared with the blood of whatever he had been working on.

The blood excited her; she  _wanted_  it, but it wasn't  _really_  what she wanted; it was a distraction; her body was lying to her again. What she really wanted, what she needed, was: " _Malekith!_ " She closed her eyes and howled for him. "Come get me! Malekith! I'm in he-"

"Jane!" A hand over her mouth and a hiss in her face shut her up. "Jane, stop – he'll hear you!"

Her point exactly! She would have rolled her eyes at him if she weren't too busy trying to struggle out of his grasp. And the chains. She liked his grip though; it was firm around her jaw and his palm was pressed against her mouth and if she licked at him she could  _taste_ it, sweat and dirt and blood.

She shoved against him with her hips, but he wasn't cooperating and she couldn't get any friction. She snarled and struggled harder, which made him press against her to try and hold her still, and  _finally_ his thigh was between hers and she could rut against it.

"Jane..." Now he was almost  _whimpering._  How pathetic.

Not pathetic.  _Sweet._  He was worried for her. Thor was worried for her. She rubbed harder, and her sense of urgency lessened a little now that she was actually taking steps to satisfy her craving.  _Thank God._  Maybe now she could think through a coherent sentence.

Now that she was done screaming and the earth-shaking pounding had stopped, the cave was mostly quiet.

So she was able to hear clearly the wet wheezing laugh from the floor: "Do you like her better that way, brother?" The words were mushy and indistinct but she recognized the voice.

_Loki._  She'd forgotten about Loki. Where had Loki gone? Before, he'd been all over her, purring to her with that famous tongue of his and sticking his hands where a brother-in-law's hands weren't supposed to go. Now he didn't sound cool and knowing at all anymore though, he sounded... horrible.

She put two and two together all of a sudden and went icy cold: that was Loki over there on the ground. That limp heap that Thor had been sitting on and-...

She stopped licking the hand in front of her face and suddenly lost interest in rubbing up against Thor at all. Loki was... How was he even still  _alive_? She had seen the punches rain down, Thor's full strength behind them. It would have killed a human. Any  _one_  of those blows would have killed a human. Crushed its skull into pieces.

Her mouth was still covered up, so she twisted her head hard to free herself. "Loki," she said quietly. Hoarse because of all the screaming she had done. Was he all right?

She felt sick, and terrified... and desperate. She had to get free. Things would be  _fine,_ if she could just get away.

"Loki will not touch you again," Thor said grimly. "I swear it."

Another weak huff of laughter from the floor, and it struck her as important so she tried to pull herself together and remember what she had been about to say. "Loki was..." she frowned. What had she been talking about?

"Helping." Loki was barely audible. "Explain it to him or he'll... come finish the job." That last bit was just a gasp. She could make out the words, but they had no meaning. Job, what job? The only  _job_  she had was freeing herself so she could  _go_ to him, to what she needed, before the need killed her.

"Malekith," she whispered. She had remembered she was supposed to be quiet. "I need Malekith."

_Malekith._ She sucked in a big breath so she could start shouting it, but then Thor's hand slammed back against her face, gripping even harder than before. "Jane? Jane-, Jane look at me.  _Look_  at me!" He shook her. "What is he saying – what does he mean,  _helping_?"

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the shaking – it helped ground her, remind her where all her body parts were. She thought she was about to fly into pieces.

"Jane! Answer me!"

Loki let out a wet heaving cough. "Would you… believe… anything… she tells you right now… anyway?"

_She._  Jane. They were talking about her. She tried to listen.

Thor was still trying to hold conversation. "Jane: what's going on? You have to tell me..."

"Rub her," Loki rasped. "It helps... drown out his call."

_Loki._  Loki's voice had been her anchor all day, all year, all  _forever_ since this had happened to her. However long it was. She nodded. Loki's hand was relief, and she wanted it back but now when she arched for it it didn't come. She whimpered.

" _Jane?"_

She twisted her head away from Thor again and this time remembered to speak quietly. "Loki. Hurry up – do it again. Please. Hurry  _up._ "

But nothing happened, and she struggled, and  _screw_  talking quietly! "Hurry up!" She shrieked it. "And let me  _out_! Let me go to him!  _Malekith_!"

Malekith. Malekith, malekith.  _Malekith._  Malekith malekith malekith; malekith. Malekith.

* * *

Loki had been lying still as death for two hours. Thor was numb, only watching him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. Thinking of nothing, remembering nothing, only watching and waiting for the moment of awakening.

It was not the first time he had waited by Loki's bedside in the healing room. He knew what to expect: it would be slow and peaceful as the spells finally did their work, and Loki would return gradually, lethargic, eyelashes fluttering as Thor took his hand and explained what had happened, where he was and how he had gotten here, assured him that everything was fine.

It had never taken this long before, though. He decided to go ahead and take Loki's hand in advance; maybe the touch would help pull him back out of his sleep.

"Loki?" he said, and made his move.

Loki's eyes sprung open. They flew to Thor and then instantly he was in motion, flinging himself gracelessly away to the side and flailing at the empty air. Crashing to the floor.

"Loki!" Thor stood and moved around the furniture to get to him, but Loki was squirming around on the ground and dragging himself under the bed. His breaths were quick and noisy.

"Loki – Loki please-…" He had  _just_ started to go to his knees when he realized he had the wrong approach entirely; Loki was fleeing from him and who could blame him. Pursuing him into his chosen refuge would only panic him worse.

"Loki, I-, I am moving away now." He tried for the tone he would use to calm a horse. "I'm all the way over here. Come out. Please. I'm-."  _I'm not going to hurt you._  It stuck in his throat.

The panicked wheezing had stopped; it sounded like Loki was breathing normally now, so he went on. "Loki, I am so sorry."

"Just- just keep away from me." Loki was obviously trying for a tone of annoyance.

He had to swallow several times before he could answer. "As you wish. I am so-"

"Where's the girl?"

"Father has... spelled her to sleep."

Loki sighed. "I thought of trying that," he said, still from under the bed. "But I was concerned that if it didn't go well you would blame me. It's dangerous."

"Yes. Father said that her mind may not weather the spell unharmed." He tried to stay calm; the last thing Loki would want was to hear him lose his temper. "He told me this after he had already put her under."

"I'm sorry," Loki said. He was quiet for a bit, and then Thor heard him shifting. "I suppose by now you've realized that I was only helping her. With, in fact, her own cooperation when she was lucid enough to provide it. I didn't hurt her. I didn't rape her. All I did was shelter her from the worst of Malekith's tearing."

Thor couldn't breathe. He  _had_ realized, of course, but to hear it said, flatly...

"I'd like to come out from under the bed now," Loki went on. "Will you stay away?"

At first he could only nod, but when he realized Loki could not see him he forced out words. "Of course."

Loki crawled out slowly, brushing balls of dust from his hair. He looked weak and shaky. Uncoordinated. Thor recognized the aftereffects of some very powerful magic, and knew how hard it was to move around in such a state, and fought the urge to go help Loki to his feet.

"How do I look?" Loki said at last, when he was finally sitting on his bed again. "Were they able to put the eye socket back together – as it was, or…?"

"Yes." Heavy with effort. "You look the same."

"That's good. All my teeth?" He moved his tongue around experimentally.

"Yes. They said you are... completely recovered."

Loki chuckled.

Thor tried once more to say: "Loki, I am so unspeakably-"

"Stop. It was my fault anyway."

"It was not-"

" _Stop._ " Loki held up a hand. "I could have explained it as you burst in. Or even taken my hand out of her in advance. But I didn't. I was fully expecting to eat a punch or two for it." He shrugged, smiled. "I wanted to. So that I could  _torture_ you with guilt afterwards when you realized how you'd wronged me."

Thor could only stare.

"In retrospect, it was perhaps not a good idea." He took a deep breath, and twisted side to side. "They did an excellent job with the ribs." Then, in the same tone: "You really care for her, don't you. You've caught me  _fucking_  your girls before and never gotten quite that annoyed."

Annoyed? He had almost  _killed_  him. He had battered Loki almost to  _death_ with his bare hands. He realized suddenly: "I don't think it was just about Jane."

"Oh?"

"It was… I thought you'd done something awful. Just to hurt me."

Loki blinked. "I hurt you all the time. You've never been so brutal about it before."

He shook his head. How could he explain it – that it wasn't anger driving him, but  _grief_. That he had gone completely mad with the idea that Loki his brother was really and truly gone – replaced with this evil stranger. That he'd felt he was fighting for more than his life, rebelling desperately with everything he had. "I don't know what to say. Other than that I am-"

"Yes, yes. You're sorry. So am I. Excellent, then everything is back to normal. You may leave now."

"Loki-"

"Leave. Oh, and by the way," he added immediately, "What did happen with the dark elf? I assume that since you're here instead of out smashing things he's been taken care of, but after I almost  _died_  to thwart him I think I'd like to know how it turned out. What happened?" He laughed. "I'm amazed you even had the strength left to fight him, really, after all the energy you expended... well." He looked down at himself.

"I did not confront the dark elf at all," Thor admitted. "When I realized what I'd-... I brought you and Jane back to Asgard at once. I brought you to the healers... and her to the pleasure house... and went straight to Father for help. He's planning how best to handle Malekith even as we speak."

Loki's eyebrows arched. " _He's_  planning? You're going to let him call the shots?"

Thor didn't look away. "I think I have made enough decisions for one day."

Loki grinned – cold. "You do feel awfully guilty, don't you."

He felt worse than he had ever felt in his entire life. Loki surely  _was_ lost to him now, after this. And he had no one to blame but himself. He nodded. "Yes."  _Forgive me,_  he wanted to say.  _Or at least tell me that some day you may._

But all Loki did was sit back among his pillows with a loud sigh of satisfaction. (Though, honestly, he did not look very satisfied.) "Good. Now get out. And – assuming Father hasn't made a vegetable out of her – give Jane a kiss for me."

* * *

**The End.**

**Holy shit. Sorry that ended up so creepy and sad!**


	33. Post movie - Traitors

**A/N: What happens to Sif & Co. after the movie?**

* * *

Sif leaned over to tell Fandral: "If we go now to our deaths, know that I'm proud of what we've done, and proud to meet the end with you."

He gave her a bracing smile. "Courage, dear lady. Everything worked out for the best, and the Allfather has always been generous with us before."

The Allfather had changed, though. Thor had said as much. Maddened by grief, imperious and hateful... this was not the Odin that Sif remembered. The Odin that she had once hoped to call her father-in-law. "Let us hope," she said, and turned to repeat her message to Volstagg.

The guard on their left yanked on the chains and warned them to stop chatting, but Volstagg was not cowed. "Don't make me sorry I didn't gut you," he said, and the guard's eyes dropped. He turned back to the conversation. "I don't imagine it will come to that, Sif. But if it does..."

The great doors opened. Guards bowed. "The Allfather will see you now."

They clanked their way forward, as best they could. Sif clanked loudest; these chains had been designed with a man's limbs in mind and they hung off her.  _Chains._  The Allfather had never done  _this_  before. Still, she did her best to hold her head high as they took their places before the dais. When the clanking stopped, silence fell.

Odin shifted in his seat. "And here you are – again," he said. "You have committed treason – again. When I heard, I found myself wondering whether I could  _ever_ be sure of your loyalty."

She swallowed. That did not bode well.

"And then," Odin went on after a silence, "It occurred to me that you  _have_  been loyal. Fiercely loyal. Perfectly true." He looked at them each in turn. "...To  _Thor._  Not to your king, not to your realm, not to your duty. But to  _Thor._  To my... foolish son," he added, selecting the word carefully, "Whom I once, but no longer, meant to succeed me."

Something in Odin's tone was... different. He was impatient – and with anger seething beneath. He had never spoken to them this way before.

"Thor is the only one, apparently, who can give the three of you commands you will obey. But Thor is gone, now."  _No._  She willed him not to say it. "Which means your services – your  _lives_  – are of no further value to Asgard."

A clanking off to her right – Fandral had staggered, tripping over nothing. In the meantime Volstagg was doing a little better: he went down to his knees (yanking the guards two paces in the process when they didn't release his chains) and said: "Your Majesty. If I may-"

"You may not." Odin's lips curved into a  _smile._  An icy cold smile. "Of love for my son I will not have you all butchered outright," he said, and then Sif could breathe again. "Instead... I strip from you your ranks and your titles. I strip you of your citizenship. You will leave Asgard now, and never return." Thank the gods. Thank the  _gods._  "All except one."

Sif blinked. "One?" Odin's eye was on  _her_ , and it was greedy. It was impossible, that he could mean...?

But then Odin's eye moved away. "Yes. One of you," he said, looking now at all of them in turn, "Will pay for your disobedience. As punishment for what you have done, one of you will be put to death." And that smile, that  _smile_ was back again. "You may choose who."

* * *

Loki was trying to keep a straight face. Trying not to bounce giddily in his seat as he waited to see how it would turn out. If push came to shove Volstagg would surely volunteer himself, but he lacked the authority to make the others allow it. Sif would stomp and rage, and then probably challenge the Allfather to single combat for the sake of her friend. But he wasn't sure about-

"Not it!" Fandral chirped, and then laughed. He turned to his friends. "But in seriousness: I assume we are all in agreement?"

Loki's eyes were currently locked with Volstagg's, for some reason, but he could still see Sif squaring up. "Yes, we are," she said.

Volstagg didn't blink. "Aye."

"Ahem. Your Majesty." Fandral bowed to get his attention. "As much as we appreciate the offer of leniency for two of the three of us, Sire, I'm afraid we're going to have to decline. We none of us would live at the expense of a friend."

Loki was amazed at the surge of  _anger_  that overtook him.  _You were certainly quick enough to kick ME to the curb!_  Abruptly the game was no longer funny. "You'd prefer to die? Very well. Guards." He gestured irritably.

Volstagg was first – he was already kneeling, so the guards just shoved his shoulders down to bow his head. One drew a blade with a sharp clean  _zing._

"Your Majesty!" Fandral was dismayed and reproachful. "This is-... This is quite sudden. Won't you at least grant us a few minutes to say farewell?"

Loki wanted them out of his sight, now and forever. "No." He gestured for the guards to get on with it.

"Odin!" Sif's voice rang out, firm and loud enough to halt the executioner mid-swing. "This is  _wrong_! After everything we have done for you, and for Thor, we deserve better than this! Even Loki, a  _real_ traitor, wasn't handled with such coldness."

She just  _couldn't resist_  bringing his name into it, could she! He should execute her himself. "Loki... is where he belongs," he said loftily. "Do you question the wisdom of my judgment?"

Fandral jumped in again. "It's not your wisdom we question, Sire, it's..." He shook his head. "We know it was the queen's intervention that saved your son. And I suppose... we are wondering... whether all hope of mercy in Asgard has died with her? Does our king have no compassion of his own?"

Loki considered. The guard still held a sword over Volstagg's neck. Waiting.

"None," he said, with a twitch of his lips. "Odin Allfather has no compassion at all." But he gestured clearly for the guard to hold. "You spoke well, however." It was a shame how few in Asgard valued the skill. "So I will let the three of you live. In Frigga's name." He kept a straight face – somehow – as he added: "And Loki's. I suppose he has rather set a precedent."

He sat stony through their tears and gratitude, reminded them to be gone by sunset, and then left the throne room.

…And then crept back, invisible, to spy. The friends were all embracing. "-You know what this means?" Fandral was saying, into Volstagg's shoulder. "It means that as much as we may hate ourselves in the morning... I think we're going to have to drink a toast to Loki tonight."

He was never going to see them again. He was glad – truly. He was.

But the throne room felt a little quiet once they had gone.

* * *

The End.

I wonder if he was actually going to do it or not. I think not. (Probably?)


	34. Loki's Funeral

**A/N: Random AU for the end of the movie – what happened to "Loki's" body?**

* * *

Thor was filthy, hurting and exhausted. Bath and a bed had never sounded so good in all his life, but still, before he would let his attendants usher him away he had one thing more to tell the king. "Father. As soon as we've rested, let us call together the masters of ceremony and start making arrangements."

Odin's jaw dropped and at first he mouthed without sound. Then: "Your mother lies dead. Your brother, dead. Asgard half in ruins, the realms bleeding, and all you can think about is your coronation? I am disappointed, Thor. I had thought-"

"No!" Father hated interruption, but Thor could not let that stand. "No, no of course that's not what I meant." He drew himself up. "I meant funeral arrangements. For Loki."

Another silence. Then Odin shook his head. "No. Loki will have no funeral."

"But-... but I told you what he did for me!" he protested. "How he died in the end. You cannot think that that does not wipe away the stain of his earlier crimes. He redeemed himself, Father – he changed. I've told you. I swear it."

Odin frowned. "Redeemed himself," he said softly. "Changed. Is that how you would describe it?"

Thor didn't understand. "Of course. I told you what he did, the-"

"I don't doubt you've told me what he  _did._ " Odin was sharp. "But what makes you say  _changed_? What makes you think that the affection which saved your life wasn't there always – only Loki had no way to show you which you would believe?"

That was... a terrible thought. Thor pushed it away and tried to focus on the topic at hand. "All the more reason to honor him with funeral rites," he insisted. "If his heart was true then I did him grave wrong, yes. And I have no way to make right what I've done except do my best, now, to treat him as he deserves."

Odin sighed. "Do you think he  _deserves_  a ceremony that nobody will bother to attend? Do you think he would like to see that in the end nobody mourns him after all?"

"I.  _I_  will attend.  _I_ will mourn. Father, please."

Odin was quiet for a while. "There will be no public funeral," he said at last. "But you may see that he gets his rites. You and I will send him off, alone."

* * *

Thor cried. More than Loki was expecting. He cried as the body (a dead dark elf, layered with illusion and heavily enchanted to disguise its foul smell) was prepared and set into its boat, cried harder as the boat was pushed off.

Once it had drifted far enough that the body couldn't be seen anymore, Loki cried too. This was as close as he was going to get to Mother's memorial; he had always been an excellent pretender and when the flames roared up it was easy to imagine that it was her soul he was watching released.

"I'm sorry, brother," Thor said eventually. Voice breaking.

Loki was surprised to discover that after everything, it still hurt to see him hurting. Earlier, when Thor had first asked about a funeral, he had made him hurt on  _purpose,_  to make him pay for the comfort he was stealing but didn't deserve.

But this, now, was genuine grief, and Loki couldn't deny that it tugged at him. He leaned in to bump his shoulder against Thor's – their substitute for a hug since childhood, since neither of them wanted to be seen  _hugging_. "It's all right," he said.

-... in Odin's voice.  _Fuck._

* * *

**The End.**


	35. Accomplice Wanted

**A/N: This popped into my head after re-watching Avengers today. But it's Loki-centric and post-TTDW, so I guess it goes in this collection.**

**EDITED 12-18-13.  Part two, which contains a sexual encounter, is now added on here.  Scroll down for fun.**

* * *

There was a plain envelope on the floor of her apartment, as if it had been pushed under the door. Natasha picked it up, judging the weight and thickness of it instantly. Just a plain piece of paper inside; she was sure. She shook it: no powder. Still, she pulled a mask out of the hall closet before she opened it, just in case.

Just a piece of paper. She opened it up and it said – in handwriting –  ** _Are you still for sale?_**

She heaved a sigh. She couldn't just write the note off. First, the person knew where she lived…

…And second, her door and floor had a row of interlocking metal tabs that made it impossible for things to be pushed under her door.

She left the apartment immediately. Took out a pen and wrote an answer right on the letter:  ** _Depends who's asking and what they're looking to buy. Notes are inefficient. Text me,_**  and left it on the floor of the hallway.

She spent the night at the house of some stranger she met in a bar. (He was safe; she was confident. She'd culled him from a group of harmless-looking drunk friends and then lifted his phone from his pocket to quickly check up on him in the bathroom.)

The next morning she went back home with backup, and had the place searched. No indication of how an intruder had gotten in, no indication that one had touched anything. The note was gone, though.

The amount of time it took the person to find her cell phone number would be a test. She thanked the agents for their help and plopped down on the couch.

Her phone buzzed the moment the door closed behind them.

**_There: now we are alone,_**  the text said.

She kept her face impassive, because apparently he had eyes on the apartment. She didn't know  _how_ ; the agents were supposed to have been looking out for that sort of thing. Well.

Time to answer.  ** _You've convinced me you're not wasting my time,_**  she said.  ** _But if you've done your homework you know I don't do much freelance work anymore._**

**_I don't need MUCH work,_**  came the immediate reply.  ** _Perhaps six weeks. It should be nothing you have moral objections to. And I'll pay you in coin more valuable than you can imagine._**

That last, actually, concerned her. If the person had offered her money – lots and lots of money – she would have agreed to at least hear out his proposal. But this… what exactly was at stake?

When she considered a little too long, the person texted her again:  ** _Texts are inefficient. Let's speak._**

At least if she heard the person's voice she could get more of a read on how creepy he – or she – actually was.  ** _Call me._**

**_No. Let me in._ **

She stared at the phone. He was  _here_? There should have been alarms and alarms…

No time to be paralyzed. She took out a gun and checked the peephole. Someone was there – alone at least. It was a bland-looking older gentleman in a suit. As she watched, he stepped away, spread his arms and turned around. Something about his gestures was familiar, but she couldn't place it. Anyway, he wasn't packing any visible weaponry.

And of course if he'd bypassed the security downstairs he could have made short work of the locks if he'd wanted. "Okay," she said through the door. "Come in."

When the door was opened for him he ducked his head to her – almost a bow. "Hello."

She didn't yet step aside to let him enter. "What's your name?"

His smile, too, was familiar. "We'll get there. May I?"

He clearly  _was_ here to hire her, not kill her, so she let him in the apartment. Then she locked the door behind him and armed all the security all over again, just in case he had friends lurking around.

"Sit," she invited, but when she turned she found he had already taken a seat on the couch.

"Sit yourself," he said, and nodded towards the armchair opposite.

She opted for the barstool instead – now she had a couple of feet of height on him and a full view of the room. She waited for him to talk.

It took him a moment. "Ah… I'm going to hate this," he said at last. He made a helpless gesture. "The problem is, if we both operated with our usual degree of carefulness it would be weeks before we'd even arranged a face-to-face meeting, and I don't know that I have that much time. Instead, one of us will have to take a leap, and I recognize that as the party in need it will have to be me. So." He took a deep breath… and then hesitated. "You…  _will_  remain calm?" he said. "Regardless of what I tell or show you?"

She blinked. "As long as I don't think there's a safety concern, I promise I'll at least hear you out."

"There's no safety concern," he assured. "Honestly."

And then he  _sparkled,_  and the nondescript old man melted away entirely. In his place sat Loki.

He was smiling. "Hello."

* * *

Fuck –  _fuck!_ She didn't speak until she was sure her voice would be quiet and calm. "Thor told us you were dead."

"Thor was… misinformed."

"I see."

"I'm not dead. I'm quite well. In fact I am making a power play for Asgard."

"Oh. You did say you wanted a throne." He hadn't yet done anything menacing… but she knew how quickly he could change.

"Mm. If I can have that one, I will leave your people alone.  _Asgard_  will leave your people alone."

She blinked. More to play for time than anything else, she tossed off: "So now I'm negotiating intergalactic peace treaties? This kinda sounds like it's above my pay grade."

He grinned at her. "Not at all.  _That_ is not the nature of my bargain."

_My bargain._  Was he intentionally calling up the memory of his awful threats from the cage?

No – he winced at his own word choice and irritably waved it away.

She didn't dwell on it. "Then what is?"

"Under my rule, Asgard will leave your people alone regardless," he promised. "It would make no sense for us to do otherwise. But as for how I plan to pay you for your services…" He spread his hands. "You've seen what I can do. Name your price."

She shifted in her seat. "Depends on the  _services,_  doesn't it?"

"I need everything you have to offer."

She gave him eyebrows. "Everything?" she said, with a bit of a purr.

"Well, I'll have that too if you're willing." He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between. "But. What I've done is take the throne under disguise as Odin. And what I need now is a counselor, a strategist. Someone to help me manage and navigate." She didn't speak up when he paused, and eventually he went on. "And I need a spy. Someone who can go where I can't, who will charm where I offend, who's free while I am occupied. And – equally important, honestly – is I need a friend. I've killed or banished or replaced everyone who knew the royal family too personally, and now I am left effectively completely alone." He cocked his head and his face scrunched into a pained, worried expression that looked so  _real_  she wanted to go pat his hand. Even though it obviously wasn't. "Agent… I've got  _no one to brag to._ "

"Oh, poor baby." Her inclination was to say: hell yes! It was a job too good to pass up, and while Loki probably intended his  _payment_ to come with strings, she had no doubt that in the end she could get whatever she wanted from him in whatever way she wanted it.

Still. To give herself a second to reconsider, she said: "Why me?"

"You've got the skills I want. And I know you. I know you through Barton; I know every memory he has of you and every opinion he's formed. I trust his judgment. And I trust _you_. Because you're mercenary."

"Mercenaries are typically the people you  _don't_  trust."

"That's just foolish. I don't trust people who work for causes. But you… you are rational and dependable. And you impressed me."

"Well, thank you." She hopped down from the barstool and stood with her feet apart and her arms crossed. "Let's recap. I come with you to Asgard and do whatever you think is necessary to help you cement your position. Socially, politically. Fine. And I keep you company, and I pat you on the back." Then she rolled her eyes and checked him out briefly. "…And perhaps some other places, if I feel like it."

His smile showed teeth. "Exactly."

"Will you want me to kill people?" She was cool about it.

So was he. "I may. It won't be anyone beyond your abilities or anyone you'll lose sleep over."

That was more assurance than she usually got. On to the more practical concerns. " _You_  come up with a cover story – or a disguise. I can't just pretend I stumbled into the cloud city by accident."

"I will handle it."

"You bring me back here when we're done."

"Of course."

"Then you give me a fuckload of money. Real, actual, usable money. I don't care how you get it."

"Agreed. I can't say I'm familiar with how one measures a  _fuckload,_  but I'm sure we'll work it out."

She ignored him. "Then you leave Earth alone.  _And_  you owe me some sort of magical favor some time."

"Yes. If you're concerned that I won't deliver, you're welcome to ask for payment in advance."

It might be better to just keep the IOU. Who knew what kind of  _magical favor_  she might need one day? She considered.

"Oh," he added in the silence, "And it goes without saying: you don't tell Thor."

It  _did_ go without saying. "The last time the two of you had a heart-to-heart you smashed up Stark's tower," she reminded. "The time before that, you destroyed a town. I think it's safer for all concerned if Thor doesn't even know you're alive."

"Then we're in agreement." Now his smile was wide, and creepy but not as creepy as some of the other smiles he'd given her. He stood up and held out his hand. "Aren't we?"

She took his hand. His grip was strong – weirdly strong; it didn't  _look_ like he was squeezing on purpose. Up close, he was huge. His eyes were piercing. (And clear this time. None of that weird cloudy blue glint now.) He was pretty intimidating, but then, would she really want to work with an ally who wasn't? This would be interesting for sure. "We are."

"Excellent." He grinned and waved his free hand in the direction of her bedroom. "Go pack."

* * *

**End of Part 1.**

**A/N: The next bit, below, has some SEXUAL CONTENT. It takes place in Asgard one evening, while Natasha and Loki are relaxing in the king's private rooms after a tough day of political intrigue.**

* * *

"I want a bath," Loki said, out of the blue. "Come take a bath with me."

His tone made her turn difficult. "Is that an  _order_ , Your Majesty?"

He heaved a sigh. "I meant it as an invitation, but if an order is what it takes, then: yes, it's an order. I want you to strip and to flirt with me." He waved off the obvious. "I won't touch you without permission."

She couldn't help herself. She supposed Loki was less ridiculous than most, but still, the idea that men thought they should try to  _reassure_ her for her safety (and that she would believe them!) always made her laugh. "I'd like to see you try," she said sweetly.

"I meant no offense," he said, and it annoyed her that even when he was being offensive, he had a nice voice.

"Fine – I'll come with you," she said, hopping down from the windowsill. "But be aware that you're not getting in my pants."

He gestured her out of the room and put a hand on her back as he followed her. It was one of those irritating paternal gestures she would usually shrug free of, but if he was really as touch-starved as he claimed she would probably have bigger problems soon and should choose her battles.

"In here," he said – and there was that  _voice_  again. "Take your clothes off."

She thought it reasonable, now, to elbow him away from her and turn her back while she undressed. "Believe it or not, Loki, even a pathetic little human like me can figure out how to use a bathtub."

"Well, you're certainly taking long enough," he growled from across the room. She turned in surprise, and found that he was already naked – magic? – and settled down in the steaming bathwater. He was leaning back against the rim of the tub ( _pool,_ really; it was huge) with his head tipped back. His eyes – if they were even open – faced the ceiling. He wasn't ogling her at all.

So she stripped quick and businesslike; no need to be sexy now. She approached the far side of the pool and dipped one foot in.

"Too hot?" Loki said lazily, without looking up.

"It's fine." It  _was_ too hot, for comfort at least. It wouldn't hurt her though, and she'd get used to it. She stepped all the way in, stepped down off the seating ledge and sat on it.

It was quiet for a long while, and she let her head fall back too.

Eventually Loki said: "Do you take baths, at home?" He sounded as groggy as she felt.

"Not often. Relaxing is dangerous."

"That's too bad – bathing suits you." Suddenly he didn't sound so groggy any more – and he didn't sound so far away. She opened her eyes and discovered that somehow he had gotten up and crossed the tub, and now stood looking down at her.

* * *

When he broadcast his interest, she didn't flinch away and cover up. Instead, she spread her arms wider on the wall behind her and arched, so that her breasts  _just_ started to break the surface. Loki grinned at her.  _Good girl._  "Bathing suits me? Would that be... especially when I'm not wearing a bathing suit?" She arched a little further, until the little wavelets were licking gently at her nipples. "You're welcome to enjoy the view," she added, with an edge in her voice, "But like I told you: you're not getting in my pants."

"Your pants are over there." He sat down on the ledge – not quite  _next to_ her; there were still a few feet of space. "But don't worry. Contrary to what Thor may have told you, I do know how to keep a bargain when I make one."

She shifted to sit up straighter, sitting cross-legged. Now that she wasn't slouching the water only came halfway up her ribs, but she didn't seem to mind. "Thor didn't say you cheat. Only that you lie."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

They sat in silence a while longer. He was watching drops of moisture run down her neck and chest. Water or sweat? He thought it was probably sweat; her cheeks were pink and the water was quite warm. (He liked to think it was sweat; she was pretty when she sweated.)

All the while she was staring absently into the distance. When she finally looked at him, she did a double-take and snapped: "Hey! Do not jizz in the bathwater."

"What?" He followed her gaze, and realized that his hand was in his lap, curled loosely around an erection he hadn't even noticed. He let go. "Oh. No no, I'm not-…" and then he laughed. "Why, are you worried I'll impregnate you? Can you imagine trying to explain  _that_ to your friends and colleagues?  _Oh, I was just visiting Asgard, and-_ "

"Shut up," she said, but there was a smile in her voice. "It's not that. It's just that I don't think we know each other well enough yet for me to bathe in your semen, okay?"

He considered telling her that the concept was more than figurative; his magic actually  _could_ turn the bathwater to semen. Then he considered skipping the warning entirely, and just  _doing_ it. But first of all  _he_ was sitting in the bathwater too, and second, he supposed that such a thing would probably constitute more than light provocation and might drive her away, and he didn't want that.

Instead he just echoed, thoughtfully: "Yet."

She snorted and stood up. For a moment he thought he'd offended her after all, but then she brushed her hair out of her face, looked down at him and said, "Do you want me to jack you off?"

" _What?_ "

"I'm pretty choosy about who gets to touch me _,_ " she explained, "But I have no problem with giving hand jobs to people." He could only stare. "Blow jobs either, really," she added, "Except not now, because underwater oral sex takes effort. So?"

He could imagine how stupid he must look, and tried to pull himself together. What was he supposed to say to such a direct...? "Ah… Yes please. Thank you. That would be fantastic."

"Okay." She knelt on the seat, next to him, and without further ado put one hand on his thigh and wrapped the other around his dick.

* * *

"I prefer things on the rough side and I'm assuming you do too," she said as she got started. "If you want me to ease up, feel free to say something."

"No, it's-, that's fine." He sounded like he was trying to match her coolness. "More than fine." Unsurprisingly, he was failing.

"Okay, good. Just relax and enjoy the ride."

She could tell almost immediately that it would be an easy hand job; his body language and breathing gave clear clues about what worked, and the pace he liked was not fast enough to tire her. She settled into a rhythm.

Every now and then she would glance up to see what he was looking at. At first he was watching the way her tits jiggled as she moved, but before long his eyes had roamed up to her face. "May I touch your mouth?" he said.

"My…? Uh, sure."

He put a hand against her jaw. "You have pretty lips," he said, and ran his thumb over them. "Full and very soft. I think I would like the way they'd look stretched around my manhood."

Her breath caught. She wondered if this was  _his_ preference, or if he'd somehow found out about  _her_  thing for dirty talk. (Interesting, classy dirty talk. She'd heard more than enough  _take it! Take my huge cock!_  to last a lifetime.) "You said you don't mind giving pleasure with your mouth." He was stroking back and forth, back and forth while he talked. She fought the urge to lick at him. "But do you  _enjoy_  it?"

"Depends," she said – and couldn't believe how airy and sexed-up she sounded.  _He_ was supposed to be the one losing it! She tore her eyes away from his and tried to pay more attention to what she was doing.

He laughed softly. "Don't be annoyed. I have centuries more experience coping with arousal than you do. I can count on one hand the times I've truly lost my head to it in recent years."

For a moment she wanted to rise to the challenge and tell him he would need fingers  _and_ toes to count with by the time she was done with him. But she was still together enough to realize that promising herself as Loki's sex slave was probably something she should think twice about, so she kept quiet and just kept stroking.

He was still plucking gently at her lower lip. "When you give your blow jobs," he went on, "Do you prefer to be the party in control? Do you use your lips and tongue to make him helpless beneath you?"

She tried not to turn and nuzzle into his hand. "Sometimes."

"…Or do you prefer him to grip you hard and fuck your mouth with authority? Do you like to feel owned, to be used like property?"

His voice cracked there at the end. Instantly, she felt less outmatched. "Are you asking," she said against his fingers, "What it would be like if I blew  _you_? Are you trying to imagine what would happen once I got down on my knees in front of you?"

He stretched his arm out along the rim of the pool behind him and gripped hard. "I might be."  _Definitely_ not steady this time.

"Well… I don't know. You  _are_  cute when you just lie back and take it. Spread your legs."

When he obeyed, panting now, she put a little more force into her strokes, and moved her free hand to his balls. "Definitely cute. I'm not sure though," she said. "I might let you grab my hair and shove your cock down my throat. Do you think you'd like that?"

He was squirming and jerking, and his eyes had glazed over. "I'm sensing yes," she said. "I'm sensing you'd be really rough – you know I can take it. I'm sensing you'd want my pretty lips to be all swollen and bruised by the time you're done with them."

" _Oh gods_ ," he rasped, and then pressed his mouth shut.

She added a little twist to the end of her strokes, upped her speed a little. He seemed to be getting close.

She asked with her eyebrows, and he nodded frantically. "Yes-  _yes_ , like that, keep going, yes."

She kept going. "Okay, well, about the blow job: we can talk about it. I'm thinking a nasty facefuck from you could be kind of hot, actually. Does this feel good?"

As if she needed to ask. He writhed harder and finally gasped " _Yes_ there- almost I'm-…"

And that was her cue. She took a deep breath and dove under the water to suck his dick into her mouth, hands still busy, and almost immediately her mouth was full of something too salty to be bathwater. Loki's hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to hurt; he jerked and twitched; and it was hard to tell from under the water but it sounded like he was babbling.

When his death-grip relaxed she sat up and flipped her wet hair out of her eyes.

He had slumped boneless against the edge, breathing hard, but pulled himself together to raise his head and throw her a smile. "Next I was going to ask whether you swallow, but apparently…"

She shrugged and licked her lips.

"I apologize for grabbing you." That was almost  _serious._  "I did promise not to touch."

Her hand went to her shoulder. "I think I'll survive."

"Oh good. The alternative would definitely distress me."

God of lies or not, in this instance she was inclined to believe him.

* * *

The End.


	36. Sif and Frigga

**A/N: So, Loki's talked about here, but he doesn't actually appear. In order to make up for that, and for the delay in getting this chapter up, I am also now editing the previous chapter (chapter 35) to include a bonus scene: a (pretty tame) Loki & Natasha sexual encounter. So, if that's your thing, enjoy.**

**This one is Sif and Frigga (but not a sexual encounter.). It takes place shortly after Jane first comes to Asgard.**

* * *

Sif replaced the staff on the weapons rack and toweled off her sweaty face. The practice field was deserted today, so it was the perfect time to work out frustrations. She eyed the rack and considered: maybe a sword would-

"Lady Sif!"

Sif jumped. Calling out to her from the observation balcony was someone she'd never,  _ever_  before seen at the field: Thor's mother.

Sif hurried across the yard and took a knee in the dust. "Queen Frigga. I am sorry; I didn't see you."

"Oh, get up, dear." Frigga spread her hands on the railing. Then she looked both ways, leaned forward, and  _jumped straight off the balcony._

Her landing was good; she somersaulted neatly and popped back up to her feet. She brushed her dress off, looked around once more, and then took Sif's arm. "Come with me."

Sif let herself be led back to the equipment area, where they were mostly sheltered from prying eyes. "Is something wrong, my queen?"

"No, I don't think so." Frigga ran a hand idly over one of the battle axes. "I wanted to talk to you about Thor's mortal woman."

Instantly Sif was on her guard. What had she done wrong? Surely the queen could not reproach her for her behavior; she had made a point of not interacting with the mortal woman at all! What more could-

"Relax, lady. You've done nothing wrong."

Oh, and she  _hated_ the way Queen Frigga seemed able to read minds.

"I should preface this," Frigga went on, "With an apology. I know I've made things difficult for you in the past. With Thor."

Well, if they were being blunt today… "How you feel about me is your own prerogative, my queen."

"Oh,  _I_ feel fine about you. In fact I admire you greatly." Frigga hefted one of the smaller weapons – a sword – and then set it down. "I've always dabbled, you know, but you fight as well as any of the men. It's a joy to see." She sighed. "I do not, however, think you are a good match for my son."

"Yes, my queen. I gathered." From the time Frigga had misinformed her of the nature of Thor's birthday party, so that she came armored while all the other women wore gowns, to all the times the queen had taken Thor's arm herself when Sif was angling for it. "I was always under the impression that the Allfather encouraged Thor to consider me for a mate, but…"

"Yes. But Odin often has very little idea what will be good for his sons."

"Son." Sif couldn't help herself.

" _Sons_ ," Frigga repeated mildly. "We adopted Loki. My husband decreed that henceforth and forevermore Loki of the frost-giant kingdom would _be his son._  Do you question the decree of the Allfather?"

"No no, my queen. Not at all. I treated Loki like a brother all these years, at Thor's request. But now I think things have changed: he's been disowned."

"As was Thor. Which did not seem to bother you." Frigga smiled and shrugged. "It's all right, dear, I'm not here to quarrel about Loki. He hasn't earned anyone's good opinion lately, and I've given up hoping that people will have faith in him anyway. All I ask for Loki is that when I get him out of that cell, you give a fair chance for him to prove himself. A chance to prove yourself is all anyone's ever given  _you_ , and all you've ever needed to make an impression."

Sif ducked her head; it would be unseemly to grin at the Queen. But it was true: every promotion she'd ever had, had come at the price of a direct challenge against the man currently occupying the post. Every unit she'd commanded had grumbled and hedged and doubted, until her first charge, her first victory, the first glimpse of her at the fore with someone's blood dripping from her blade.

"I'll keep it in my mind, my lady. If Loki gets out-"

" _When._ "

"If Loki gets out, I'll give him all the  _chance_  people have given me." That was definitely a promise she could keep – surely there would be single combat in there somewhere.

"Thank you, dear." Frigga spun suddenly, and a throwing knife quivered in a target across the room. Dead-center.

Sif stared. "I didn't know you were so good with knives."

"It's been my secret since childhood. They're light and easily concealed. I was always told they're a good lady's weapon."

_Loki favors knives._  But she kept her mouth shut; she had no shortage of things to provoke the queen about and it seemed stupid to add something unnecessarily. "You said you wanted to discuss Thor's mortal, my queen?"

Frigga sighed. Threw another knife. (Where were they even  _coming_  from? Her sleeve? Was she conjuring them?) "I'm told the girl had sharp words for the Allfather earlier. What?" she added, when Sif stared in shock. "Odin needs sharp words every now and again –  _as does Thor._  You are loyal to him,  _unconditionally_  loyal, and therein lies the problem."

Sif tried not to look as blank and puzzled as she felt.

"Thor needs someone who will counsel him  _against_ the most stupid of his ideas," Frigga explained, "Not someone who will back them wholeheartedly."

That was so unfair! She had heard of difficult mothers-in-law, but to be punished by Frigga because she was  _too_  obedient and supportive of Frigga's son? "If you want someone who will work  _against_ Thor instead of with him, you might as well just let Loki out of his cage now." Then she bit her lip and worried. Had that gone too far? She would never have said such a thing to Odin… (but Odin would never have provoked her so badly!)

Frigga shook her head, smiling sadly. "I'm afraid that any counsel Loki gave these days would prompt Thor to act in exactly the opposite way suggested. But the mortal, he listens to."

"The mortal is not worthy of Thor."

"No, probably not." Frigga threw again, to a different target even further away. "But they have a very limited life span in any event. I'm asking you to let this run its course. Do not try to get between them, and do not let Thor think he risks losing you by taking her to wife."

"To  _wife_?! You think he would-…"

"He's Thor." Frigga didn't seem disturbed. "But in any event the mortal will be dead before you know it, and if you still love my son then, and are a little more willing to stand up to him, we can revisit this question. Do we understand one another?"

Sif nodded.

Frigga held her hand out and called her knives to her. They came instantly and went hilt-first to her hand; even Mjolnir did not heel so neatly. Sif was impressed despite herself. She bowed and thanked the queen for her attention – and for a change, meant it.

* * *

The End.


	37. Thor Lies

**A/N: Happy New Year, everybody! This is about lying. Loki-centric even though it's Thor's POV. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

The first time Thor tries his hand at lying, he lies to the Allfather himself. Why not? He's never been one to do anything by halves.

He is standing beside Odin, still blank and numb with the loss of Loki, still sick with the memory of his brother's face closing off, the terrible decision written all over it, just before he let go his hold and fell. To his death. Loki is gone, and there is nothing left of him save what Thor himself can keep with him, can honor and remember.

What better way to honor his brother's memory than to adopt his greatest talent? It will probably take work, yes, but then Thor has already had plenty of instruction.  _We shall HAVE to teach you to lie, brother,_  Loki had complained every time Thor got them caught at some mischief.  _Look at me. Watch my face. Repeat after me..._

In this moment he hates Odin, and that frightens him because Odin is his king and his father and he should be feeling love and devotion. But Odin is  _at fault_ in Loki's fall; Thor feels it in his bones. He should have said something different.  _Done_ something different. He could have soothed Loki with words or, failing that, stopped him from falling by main force. Thor knows he can move faster than sight, can lift whole buildings with his seidr when he wants to. Why had he done nothing while Loki hovered on the brink?

He swallows down his anger, and makes his face blank. Loki tried so hard to teach him that skill, but until this moment he's never been able. Why now, finally? Perhaps he has just never before had feelings that needed to be hidden.

He wants to say something flattering, something a good son and good subject should be thinking. He settles on the exact opposite of what's in his mind. "There will never be a wiser king than you," he says.

Then he freezes: surely he's not going to get  _away_  with that? Now that the words are out of his mouth they sound so blunt, so manufactured, so obviously false that there is  _no way_ Odin is going to-

...Believe him. Odin believes him. He can see it in Odin's tiny half-smile, in the proud set of Odin's shoulders as he looks out over the city. Odin believes him.

Thor doesn't do things by halves. This is  _working,_ so he presses on. He tells another lie, something even  _more_ untrue, something he almost can't bring himself to mouth. "...Or a better father."

He gets away with that, too. He can't believe lying is this easy.

* * *

The next time he lies, it is in Loki's favor. This time he's speaking to the mortal commander, Nick Fury, who is also missing an eye, and also very good at seeing into people with the eye he has left. Thor meets his gaze steadily and tells him that there is no point torturing Loki, because torture will not work.

Fury disagrees with him, pointing out – correctly – that even the toughest people can be broken down by pain expertly and persistently applied. But the lie is successful: Fury believes that Thor, even if wrong, is in earnest.

In truth, Thor  _does_ want to go into the cell and beat sense into Loki himself, punish him for everything he's done and for his terrible unbrotherly attitude and, most of all, for all the tears and grief his little  _trick_  had cost. Thor has not known a truly happy day since the Bifrost, and Loki is the cause of that, and Thor wants to smash his head for it.

But. That is shortsighted. In the end he will be upset if Loki is harmed, especially if by his hand. So he shakes his head and insists that torture will do no good, with the most serious look he has. Fury believes him and lets the question rest.

_You taught me well, brother._  He wishes he could take Loki aside and tell him so.

* * *

Of course, like all star pupils, eventually Thor takes it into his head to challenge his master. Loki is in a cell and Thor needs his help. If Loki distracts him or deviates from the plan, though, it will get them killed. And as he can't trust Loki to cooperate out of love, he needs to do it through fear instead.

Finally, now, he has an opportunity to pay Loki back for some of the hurt he has caused. Lying through his teeth, he disavows their fraternal bond. This was Loki's greatest fear once, that he would say something like this – in exactly this tone, sure and steady, the tone he uses when he is at his most sincere.

He's not halfway through the sentence when he sees Loki's face flicker and then go smooth. So, Loki is trying to conceal something from him. Hurt.

Thor knows he has drawn blood – cut deep – and it's as satisfying as punching Loki ever was. Maybe more so, even, because Loki was always unrepentant as he was being beaten to a pulp, grinning and mocking to the last. But now he is quiet – just taking it.

Thor never does things by halves. He goes on, cold and certain: "Betray me, and I will kill you." This time, oddly, the lie hurts  _him,_ too. The thought of killing Loki is very upsetting. But his poker face holds.

He watches Loki pretend not to be hurt and he wonders why he was never able to see through Loki's lies in the past. Well. Now he can, and after this is all over they will talk again, and they'll be on more equal footing now that he, too, can conceal the truth and detect when someone else is doing so.

Later on he will come to regret his thoroughness; he realizes as Loki lies dead in his arms that he never admitted the truth and Loki never knew it. He realizes he has done wrong, maybe the most wrong he has ever done in his life: he inflicted terrible pain on his brother  _on purpose,_ and let him die with those awful words still hanging in the air. He never took it back. Never apologized.

Loki did, though – with his last breaths he was gasping  _I'm sorry_ , and Thor realizes now, too late, that his lessons on lying really weren't complete yet. Loki had neglected to teach him that lying may be easy but it's not always safe.

He tells himself he will not lie again. It is too dangerous, and he is too good at it.

* * *

He does, however, permit himself one more gigantic lie. This one, once again, is to Odin. And about Loki. How fitting, to end his foray into deceit the way it began.

It's the only way he can think of to honor his brother. After what he's done, he owes it to Loki to give him whatever he would have wanted. Not that it will do Loki any good at this point, but maybe if he tries, he will at least regain the ability to sleep at night. Maybe he can stop hating himself.

He tells Odin that Loki would have made a better king than he would. Loki would have loved to hear that. He tells Odin that he doesn't want the throne. He tells Odin nice things about his legacy, flattering things about Loki, about living and dying with honor. Lies, lies, and more lies. Odin swallows every one, agreeing. Loki would have liked it.

To complete his apology, in the end he really doesn't take the throne – he doesn't do things by halves. He feels a little better after that.

Not  _much_  better, though. Loki did teach him to lie, but it would have been nice if he'd also taught him how to live with himself afterwards.

* * *

The End.


	38. Makeover

**A/N: When Loki shows up for sentencing, he doesn't look nearly as crappy as he did when Thor retrieved him from Midgard. How did he get cleaned up? This chapter features: Non-Asshole Odin! Wow!**

* * *

Loki sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of his cell, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He was focusing hard on ignoring how filthy he was, and how injured.

And how screwed.

He had been brought straight from Midgard to the dungeons, marched in by Thor and locked down. "I'll tell Father I've retrieved you," Thor said. "What happens after that, brother, is out of my hands. I wish you had let me help you when I could."

Loki snarled behind the mask and glared until he went away. Then he sat down to wait for the inevitable summons up to the throne room, for judgment and punishment.

It didn't come. All day... or the next day. Or the day after that.

Thor surely hadn't  _forgotten_  about him. Neither had Odin. And neither would want to leave a member of the family down the dungeons to starve alone, so what that told him was that he had been disowned  _in absentia_. Wonderful. Now, at last, Odin had truly taken away everything _._  Even the protection of his name.

Without his title to fall back on, Loki knew he was doomed. He had aggressed on other realms on behalf of Asgard – Odin would execute a person for that. Would certainly execute  _him._

With death imminent, he thought he should focus on preparing himself. Thinking thoughts that would…

Would only distress him, in the end. There was nothing he could do. Better to ignore his predicament entirely, and think of something better. It had been a while since last he'd eaten, so he would start by fantasizing about cake. If he focused hard enough he could  _taste_ it. The thoughts pleased him. That was better.

* * *

Some time later, there was the distant creaking of a door. At last: they were coming.

He stood and squared his shoulders; the guards should not see him crumpled on the floor. He would impress them to the last, and go to his death proudly. (As proudly as he could, that is, given his awful physical condition. He knew he looked half-dead already.)

But it turned out the visitor was not guards at all. "Loki," Odin said quietly, "I would not want my presence to give you false hope, so let me begin by telling you that your fate has not yet been decided and it is still possible – I would even say likely – that you will be executed. Do you understand that?"

He nodded. Curious, mostly. What could Odin want with him now?

"But in the meantime," Odin went on, "I do not wish for you to suffer needlessly. I know that you are hurt and hungry. As I don't think it would be prudent to leave you alone with guards or healers, I will care for you myself." He stepped close to the cage. "I will take off that muzzle. However, if you speak so much as  _one word_  to me, I'll spell it to your face and you will never remove it again. Is that clear?"

He nodded again.  _Note to self: do not speak._

"Will you cooperate in any way I ask?"

_Tell me again what my options are?_  Loki nodded.

"Very well." Odin waved his hand and suddenly the metal cut into his neck a little less harshly. "The lock has been opened. You may remove it yourself. Put it on the floor beside you."

He did as he was told. He came within a hair's breadth of opening his mouth and saying  _Thank you, Father_  to butter the old tyrant up a little, but just in time he remembered that he must not speak. He waited.

"Good. I will help you with your wounds." Odin waved again, and this time the effect was much more dramatic: suddenly Loki could breathe deep without pain. His ribs were healed, and his head. The array of cuts and sprains and bruises that had so irritated him by healing at a  _glacial_  pace without magic… were suddenly gone.

It was so good he let out a noise, a moan, and then gasped because knowing Odin he might take that as a violation of the no-talking rule.

But Odin ignored him. "Is there any injury on your body that I have  _not_ addressed?" he said, short and cool. Loki felt himself over, shifted and moved around a little, but there was nothing. He felt fine. No signs of the terrible battering he had taken, or of the damage the Chituari had wrought. (The creatures had not been gentle with him when first they snatched him from the void. He had later been allowed to heal himself as best he could, but his work had been highly imperfect. Odin had always been much better with medical magicks than he was.).

He shook his head, and signaled  _thank you_ by clasping his hands and bowing briefly over them.

"Good. And now you should be cleaned. I'd thought of using an illusion spell, but Frigga sees through them and she would not like to see you like this. Take off your clothes."

Again Loki obeyed. He managed to stand proud and without covering himself, but he couldn't do anything about the shivering. It was  _cold_ in the dungeons without clothes on.

"Wash yourself."

_With what?_  he wanted to say, but then he was smashed full in the face with a wall of soapy water. He coughed and swatted at it, but it was coming from every direction now – a rainstorm of suds churned all through his cell.

As soon as he managed to stop gagging on bubbles he scrubbed at himself, gingerly at first until he could really accept that he was no longer covered in wounds and touch no longer hurt him. Once he truly believed that, he washed fast and hard, and then stood still for a blast of hot wind that dried him.

"Here are new clothes. Put them on." Odin conjured leathers into the cell and stood silent while he dressed.

"Lastly: here is food." It was more than just bread and water; Odin gave him a meal that was full if simple and even included a small glass of wine. His stomach gurgled at the sight, but he resisted the urge to tear into it immediately.  _Go away,_  he thought.  _I'll devour it like a beast once I have some privacy._

"As soon as I have heard from the last of my counselors, I will render a decision. In the meantime: behave yourself." With that, Odin turned and left him.

_Behave yourself._  It sounded like something a father would say to his child – not something a captor would say to a prisoner slated to die. And yet… foolish hope was never a good idea.

Fortunately, though, the food was calling to him, hot and inviting. He was able to close off the rest of his thoughts and just focus on eating it.

* * *

**The End.**

**See? Odin's not *always* horrible...**


	39. Accomplice Wanted - part II

**A/N: This is a continuation of Chapter 35 (which was post-TTDW, Loki hiring Natasha to come help him with politics at court). No sex here – just some nude sort-of-flirting. This will probably be the last chunk of Loki & Natasha; I like them, but I don't ship them.**

* * *

The baths became something of a routine after that – though regrettably Natasha didn't repeat her offer to pleasure him. In fact, they generally stayed on opposite sides of the pool and didn't touch one another at all...

Until about a week later, when without any warning she got up and waded across to him. "I want to make a deal," she said. She was standing close to where he was sitting, too close, so that her foot brushed his.

It was apparent what sort of  _deal_ she was talking about, and though his treacherous dick went ahead and cast its vote Loki shrugged and gave her a look of annoyance. "Perhaps I don't enjoy being asked to pay for sex."

"Well, perhaps I enjoy being paid." She stepped in and straddled him, kneeling on the seating bench on either side of his legs, lowering herself carefully over his lap. She leaned in to whisper in his ear (which, by design no doubt, pressed her breasts against him. He did his best not to harden any further but of course it was a lost cause.) "What if I told you," she purred, "That the idea of selling myself to you turns me on?"

He tried not to smell her neck and lick her. Failed again. "Does it?"

She sat back abruptly. Shrugged and flashed him a half smile."But what if I told you it did?"

He had to laugh. At least she hadn't lied to him. "You'd never make it as a whore – you have no business sense. Get off me." He manhandled her to the side and took a moment to try and get his body back under control again. "If you'd pretended a little longer I might have fallen for it, you know."

She had closed her eyes and leaned her head back, arms stretched out along the tub, unselfconscious. "We are men of action, Loki," she said to the ceiling. "Lies do not become us."

He could tell it was a quote from some Midgard culture item. He liked when she forgot herself and said such things to him; it suggested she was speaking freely without weighing each of her words first. Though it was always only a matter of time before her mind caught up to her mouth and-

"That's from  _Princess Bride,_ " she added. "A movie."

He was momentarily derailed. " _Princess Bride_?" he repeated. " _You_ watch something called  _princess bride_? Please tell me you were undercover or something."

She laughed. "It's not what it sounds like. There's fighting, and giants, and that kind of thing."

"Fighting and giants," he repeated. Instantly a good deal less amused. "How wonderful."

It took her a minute to figure out his bad mood – and when she did, all she did was wave it off lazily. "Oh, lighten up. Not everything is about _you_."

Lighten up. He tried. "So... what exactly was the deal you were proposing?" he said, as friendly as he could.

"Nothing big. I just wanted a favor."

"Mm. I already  _owe_  you a favor," he pointed out. "For working with me."

"Hell, no." She shook her head. "I'm not wasting my big magical hurrah on this."

"What is  _this_?"

She shrugged. "I'm a pretty smooth talker," she said, still up to the ceiling. "But there's something I haven't had a lot of luck with, and if there's one smoother talker I know than me, it's you. I wanted to see if I can get you to take a shot."

"Mm." He splashed idly. "You want me to talk someone into something for you?"

"Yeah. Or  _out_ of something, really, but yeah, that's the idea. If there are some words somehow that would do the trick… I haven't found them. You might."

"And in return...?" Mostly to see what she'd do, he reached over and pinched her nipple lightly.

He expected a smack or a scolding. Instead, Natasha gripped the tub behind her and squirmed in her seat. "You tell me," she said. "What would you ask in return for one tiny little conversation?"

He pinched again, still gently but with a bit of a twist, now.  _I prefer things on the rough side,_ she'd said. "Depends on the conversation, I should think." Pinch and twist – a little harder.

She wasn't trying to stop him as he touched her. Now he wanted her. It was time to just iron out the details of this and-

He laughed aloud and made himself move away. "I retract my words: you have  _excellent_  business sense," he said.

She finally sat up, and gave him that wicked little smile again. "I know that some goods advertise themselves, yes." She was looking him up and down, assessing his body language, and he broadcast as best he could that his refusal was in earnest. She sighed. "I wasn't  _actually_ trying to sleep with you, you know. This is just me batting my eyelashes."

"Well, bat away. You do have fantastic-. Eyelashes." He let himself have one more look. "So what  _are_ you offering?"

"I don't know. How about a shoulder massage? I saw you cracking your neck on the throne today."

He'd been thinking of asking for that anyway. "All right." He beckoned and made space for her to sit behind him. "Tell me a bit about this conversation you're asking for, and we can make a deal."

* * *

Later.

* * *

Clint knew at once that there was something  _off_ about Natasha as she walked in and sat on the couch. She was too relaxed, too soft, too _happy._  He had never seen her return from a job like this.

"You've been gone two months. I thought you were working," he said. He perched on one of her bar stools. He had never seen  _her_ use the bar stools – he had the impression she kept them around just for his visits.

"I was." She popped open a beer. Another first: he'd seen her drinking after a mission all right, but only ever the hard stuff. Vodka, nine times out of ten. Or vile moonshine when vodka was unavailable.

"You don't look like you've been working." He tried not to sound accusing.

"It was an easy job. Posing as arm candy, and spying on people with no defenses against it. The biggest challenge was not dying of boredom."

Clint frowned. Something still,  _still_  wasn't adding up. He smelled lies on her. No – not lies. Just... omissions. "What aren't you telling me? You'd never take a job like that."

"I got made a really good offer." She cocked her head. "Promise you'll keep your mouth shut?"

He swallowed. "Tasha..." She had  _never_  broken confidentiality for him. Nor he for her. It went against every-

"I'm allowed to tell you, dipstick." She sipped her beer. "Provided you'll keep it quiet."

That was much better. He nodded and gestured for her to go on. And he opened a beer himself – he wasn't feeling well today and he doubted he'd be able to drink it, but he should at least pretend.

"So, the employer... can  _do_ something for you. For your-." She tapped herself on the head.

He put down his untouched drink. "I don't need anything  _done_ for me. And we've already established there's nothing anyone can do." They'd tried doctors, shrinks, hypnotists. Sleep and exercise. Drugs and alcohol. Sex. Wizards. Recalibration so hard it almost cracked his skull.

Natasha said: "The employer is Loki."

* * *

Loki read through half her bookcase while he waited for the signal. It took no great effort, even though many of the books were in unfamiliar alphabets that hurt his eyes as they reformed into intelligible Alltongue for him. He browsed through her closet and he admired her guns. He did it all  _quietly_ , because she had made him promise not to interfere as she broke the news of him to Barton. She'd told him to keep the promise even if Barton hurt her.

He was mostly certain that Barton would  _not_ hurt her... but as she'd been telling him time and again, Barton was now insane. One never knew what he might do.  _If it's one of his good days nothing bad will happen,_  she'd explained.  _But he has these episodes where he can't control himself. He goes wild, or he just sits and stares at the wall, and all anyone can do is just wait for him to come back. He hates it._

Loki had pretended the whole thing sounded very exotic to him, but in fact he had firsthand experience and he knew he could be of help.

Provided the fool would cooperate with him. Which was not entirely certain, which was why Natasha had gone in alone at first.

Finally, after near an hour and a great deal of shouting, the bedroom door got its knock. He took a breath and came out.

_Come through the door like a normal person,_  she'd ordered.  _No appearing and disappearing shit; that'll only freak him out._

When he stepped in, though, Barton freaked out anyway, lurching to his feet and spilling a beer down his shirt.

Loki dried it with a wave of his hand; why not be generous. "Hello," he said.

Barton recoiled too far too fast. His head smacked into the wall behind him and Loki winced. "There's no need for that. Relax, Agent. I offer you no harm."

All right, that was a mistake. He remembered too late that he'd said those same words to Barton before, many times, whenever he became restive or panicked in his service. The man's will had been strong. It had taken a lot of power to conquer it; it was no wonder a bit of damage had been done.

"Sorry – I'm sorry," he tried again, as human in his mannerisms as he knew how to be. Natasha was waiting expectantly and he found he really didn't want to disappoint her. He'd promised to  _make a genuine effort._  How could he demonstrate that he was not holding back? "Look, if you'd like to resort to some sort of violence to confirm to yourself that our positions have changed, I'm open to that."

Barton blinked uncomprehendingly.

"You can hit him," Natasha supplied. "In fact I think you should. I will if you won't. Go for it."

Loki glared at her, she smirked back, and Barton walked up and smashed an elbow into his face.

" _Aowh!_ " What a ridiculous noise. He clapped a hand to his cheek, furious with himself for it, and felt blood sliding between his fingers.

Natasha  _tsk_ ed. "You and those cheekbones."

Her face would have looked impassive to an outsider, but Loki knew her laughter when he saw it. Oddly, it didn't offend him. "Not funny!" he complained. "I was thinking something more along the lines of a, a playful slap or something. Rather like the ones  _you're_ always giving me when- _UHH._ "

An even worse noise, because Barton had unexpectedly socked him in the stomach. He left off holding his face to clutch at his gut, which got blood on his clothes, which annoyed him enough to use magic to set everything to rights.

"See, Clint?" Natasha said as he straightened his collar. "Big Bad Loki is playing nice today."

Barton didn't look afraid anymore at least, but he did still look twitchy and cornered. Loki considered his options. He needed to put the man at ease – and given their, erm, prior relationship, that meant he would need to re-cast himself a bit. Bring himself down a few levels, jettison some dignity. This could be fun.

He gave a smile that was all trouble. "I'm here to help you – at dear Natasha's request. Shall I tell you  _how_ she paid for this favor?"

She snorted. "I'll tell you how I did  _not_ pay for it."

"Yes. She did  _not_ pay with anal. For this."

Barton hit him in the gut again, but that was a blessing in disguise because it doubled him up so that the beer Natasha threw sailed right over his head and smashed into the wall instead. "Clean that up, you ass," she ordered.

He could tell she was amused. He cleaned it up. "I apologize; that was terribly childish of me," he said. "I could promise I'm not going to do it again, but... well, that would be a lie."

Barton was staring at him. "You are... So. Fucking. Insane."

He grinned. They were on speaking terms already! Excellent. "Yes. Now sit down. I want to confirm what Natasha's told me about your condition. If I'm right as to what's wrong with you, healing it is a simple matter."

"I- it's-... there's nothing to heal," Barton stammered. "They scanned my brain. There's nothing there – no lesions."

"Your healers' equipment can't scan for this," he explained. "What's wrong isn't in your brain. You've got-... call it  _lesions_... on your will." He'd always said  _defects_ himself, but this was much better. More clinical. Less upsetting.

Natasha came and stood between them. "Hold on. You're going to  _do_  something for him," she said, "Even though I only bargained for a conversation?"

He heaved a big theatrical sigh. "Why does everyone assume I'm incapable of being generous?" he lamented.

She didn't budge. "Seriously."

"Seriously, it will take me ten minutes," he said. "And as I recall, you promised that if I set Barton right I could consider you...  _on retainer_ , was it?" He gave his filthiest leer. "I'd  _love_ to watch you get... retained."

"Good lord." She rolled her eyes.

"No man can ever retain you like I can," he went on, all purr. "You'll be ruined. I'll retain you every way there is, every night, I'll retain you so hard you-  _ow_!" He rubbed his cheek and dropped the lechery from his voice. "See,  _that's_ the kind of slap I was thinking of, earlier."

She finally moved out of the way so that he could work. "Yeah, well, I can throw elbows too when I want to. So you should watch your ass."

He made a face at her back, and then gestured Barton towards the couch.

Barton cooperated – trusting, now. Because of the rapport he could sense between them.

That brought a feeling warm and fuzzy enough to pay for this errand all on its own. (Though he had best not tell Natasha that, or she would drive a much harder bargain next time. And there  _would_ be a next time, he was sure.)

* * *

The End.


	40. I Don't Know Aether

**A/N: AU for what happens after Thor tries to fry the aether with lightning. I… have no idea where this idea came from. Enjoy?**

* * *

As the dust from the explosion settled, red flakes began rising from the ground. At first Thor thought they were flying aimlessly, blown by the wind like leaves… but he realized, too late, that the aether was moving with a purpose, coming together again, soon to rush as one towards-

 _Loki._ Always the cleverer, Loki had seen the disaster a split second before he did, had jumped up and _thrown_ himself in Malekith's direction. It was a sloppy tackle but enough; the elf stumbled, and Loki turned to greet the aether head-on and accept it into himself.

"No!" Thor screamed into the wind. He tried to rise up to stop it, but it was too late; he had not yet even managed to gain his feet before it was done.

The wind died. In the sudden quiet, Loki's head snapped up and his eyes opened and they blazed red – Jotun red, their true color with all illusion abandoned. His skin was no longer pale… no longer looked like flesh at all. Instead it gleamed like polished metal. A dark pewter color, though when he moved Thor could detect a bluish cast to it.

"Well," Loki said – and his voice had deepened, almost to a giant's growl. "That was interesting."

Malekith had found his feet again, was reaching out with both hands as if to summon the aether forth. The wind rose, and Thor waited for Loki to rise helplessly into the air, as Jane had… but instead Loki turned to face the onslaught, and laughed. "You'll find me not as easy a mark as the mortal, elf."

Malekith dropped his arms. "Very well." He turned to his companions and said something in their harsh guttural language. They gripped their weapons with renewed purpose.

Loki tilted his head. "I'm afraid I've made no study of the tongues of savages. Would that be: _kill them all_?"

Malekith snorted. "A good guess, brat. It was: _take him, and kill the others._ "

Thor gripped his hammer, but held back from throwing it. With so many enemies – and especially with Malekith, and his hulking lieutenant, and Loki among them – it would not be wise to let go of Mjolnir without thought. He needed to be clever and efficient. His life and Jane's depended on it.

" _No_ ," Loki said firmly. His voice carried in the still air. "Leave them. I will come with you, and carry out your plans."

Malekith's pale eyes narrowed. "You – a child of this universe – you would see it destroyed?"

"This universe has never done much to please me," Loki said easily, "And I'm happy to be rid of it. But I will not watch my brother die. Here: I can ensure that they don't follow."

He turned. Towards Jane.

" _No_!" Thor threw the hammer; this was worth it. He could not let Loki do whatever he was planning.

Incredibly, though, the hammer did not hit its target: Malekith's enormous companion stepped into its path and took the blow full in the chest. It staggered back with a grunt, fell to a knee-… _and then rose again._

"Keep the Asgardian from interfering," Malekith called.

Thor squared up and called Mjolnir back to his hand.

* * *

Jane was standing and ready to stand her ground. What choice did she have, at this point? Loki was coming for her and he was all freaky and metallic, and the only option she had at this point was try and talk herself out of trouble.

"You've got some nerve, Loki," she started. "You swore up and down that you-"

"Quiet." He snatched her by the face and then she was quiet all right. His other hand came up – and there was a dagger in it. _Shit_!

 _Just_ as the knife descended, though, a hand closed on Loki's wrist. " _Stop._ "

Malekith? She was going to be saved by _Malekith_ of all people ( _people?_ ) ? This made no sense.

"I would be a fool to trust, after your earlier trick," Malekith explained. "Allow me." And he took the knife himself.

So much for being saved. Loki held her by the shoulders and turned her to face the elf, and said only: "All right, but be careful."

Malekith smiled at her – and she almost wet herself; his smile was more terrifying than the knife. "Look away, child."

She looked away, and held her breath, praying that nothing bad would happen to her but the next thing she knew was an _explosion_ of pain. Pain pain pain. It was nothing she couldn't handle, she told herself, until she opened her eyes and saw that he had cut from her shoulder almost to her elbow, a deep hooked cut, and blood was pouring, running out, a thick stream of it, flowing. She hated blood.

Then suddenly she realized how much it _really_ hurt, and how much it was bleeding, and she started to scream. Loki let go of her and at first all she could do was scream louder. Someone took her hand and pressed it to the wound. "Hold that."

She was dizzy. The ground was underneath her; she'd sat down. She couldn't look. She was still screaming.

* * *

As soon as the huge creature was pulled off him, Thor worked to get himself together. He'd taken something of a beating but it was nothing that would not heal. He was fine.

Jane might not be. When at last his eyes would focus, he twisted and could see her on the ground, wailing, covered in blood. Loki stood over her, wiping off his dagger, and Thor would have _killed_ him had not the dark elf loomed suddenly in his vision, kneeling on his chest, holding him down. "Look at me. Be still and pay attention, if you wish to save her life," Malekith said.

He nodded. Swallowed down his rage.

"There is a path to earth not far from here. I will leave you someone who can show you the way. The woman will not die of her wound, if you take her at once to her mortal healers. She will live – to see the stars wink out and the sun fade to black. You can meet the end together."

Loki chimed in. "…If you take her _at once,_ Thor. That means no arguing, no fighting, no taking time to follow us and monkey with our plans." _Our_ plans. "Is that clear?"

He struggled a moment but could not free himself; he was exhausted and the elf weighed a ton. "Clear – it's clear. Let me go to her." He made himself relax against the ground, tilting his head to bare his throat in submission, and Malekith at last climbed off him.

Immediately he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled over to Jane, heart pounding but he knew his hands and his voice would be steady. He had remained calm through worse. He had. "Jane. Jane, I am so sorry. Hush. You'll be fine, this is fine, I will help you." He looked at the wound.

It was bad. Not bad for _him_ , certainly, but for a mortal…? There was so much blood. She could die of it.

"Bind it tight," Loki advised from over him, "And take her quickly to an earth hospital. She'll be fine."

He tore pieces from her flowing gown and began wrapping. "I will kill you for this," he said, but when he looked up Loki – and the elves, minus the one who'd been left to guide him – were already halfway across the field.

* * *

Loki hesitated at the door of the spaceship. It was full of mysterious beeping machinery, and full of dark elves. He wondered what they would do to him when they realized he wasn't _actually_ going to help them obliterate creation. Probably nothing good. It was therefore best that he not reveal that little tidbit until he had improved his odds as much as possible.

"Wait," he said. (He _loved_ what the aether had done with his voice. People would listen to this voice. He could out-bellow _Thor_ with this voice if he wanted to.) . "There is one thing."

Malekith looked suspicious. "Yes?"

This, at least, was not a lie. He could let Malekith's pale eyes search his and they would fine nothing but plain painful truth. "Queen Frigga of Asgard was the only being in all the realms who ever showed me love and affection," he said quietly. "I will not keep company with her killer. Which of you struck the blow?" Thor had already told him it was the great horned creature. Which was fortunate; Malekith would surely be more willing to sacrifice his servant than himself.

"You speak of the witch behind the throne room," the elf said after a silence. "I did not know her for the queen – though perhaps I should have. She was of noble bearing."

Did he expect flattery to get him out of this? "It was your companion," Loki pressed, "Was it not? I want him destroyed. Specifically, I want to destroy him myself. After that, I will be finished with this universe, and more than happy to help you end it."

Malekith gave the creature a long solemn look, and waited for the creature to nod. "Your sacrifice will mean the rebirth of the darkness," he said hoarsely. The creature nodded again.

Loki could hardly believe his luck. Or Malekith's stupidity. "So… now?" he said hopefully. He wondered if it would be bad form to make it a slow painful death. He wondered if Malekith would interfere.

"The Kursed one cannot be _destroyed_ as you are envisioning it," Malekith said. Just as Loki was about to caution that he was never a big fan of fine print, the elf explained: "You will have to settle for casting him into nothingness."

Loki shrugged. "I suppose that's acceptable. How?"

The horned creature creaked as it moved. It reached to its hip, pulled out what looked like a dark lumpy rock, and handed it over.

"This is… a bomb?" Loki guessed. "That will open a hole and pull him from the universe?"

"Yes."

"Never to return?"

Malekith sucked in a slow breath. "Never."

Was that… _grief_ he heard? Were Malekith and the creature _friends_?

Even better. He managed not to laugh. "How do I operate it?"

"Crush it in your hand. Cast it at his feet. Then back away." Malekith backed away himself, in preparation.

"I see." He held the bomb in his hand and closed his eyes. He had to buy some time to think. "Mother," he said aloud. "There was a poem you used to read to send me to sleep at night. To bring me peace." No, there wasn't. But he recited some Vanir piece slowly, loud enough for Malekith to hear, because it would have looked suspicious if he just froze here and stood looking calculating.

In the meantime he was thinking: the ship was full of dark elves. They were desperate to secure his cooperation in time to make use of the Convergence. The process was likely to be very unpleasant. They might succeed, in which case the universe – himself included – would end, or they might fail, in which case he would live on maimed and imprisoned. At least until they could weaken him enough to take the aether by force, at which point they would kill him anyway.

At one time it was a chance he would have taken, on the idea that come hell or high water Thor would rescue him eventually. _But that hope no longer exists to protect you_. He would have let out a bitter laugh, except it would give the game away.

He finished pretending to pray to Mother's soul. He knew he couldn't let them take him onto the ship. _Here we go._

He set off the bomb and tossed it at the creature – who stood firm, stance wide, waiting to die.

The bomb started to squeal. It was going off.

Loki darted forward and threw his arms around the creature's neck.

* * *

**The End.**

**Question: is anybody aware of any other fics where Loki gets hold of the aether? I've read a bunch of TTDW stuff but I don't think I've seen that anywhere.**


	41. AU In There Somewhere

**A/N: This one might get continued. AU.**

* * *

"You should know that when we fought each other in the past, I did so with a glimmer of hope that my brother was still in there somewhere."

Thor is disgusted, contemptuous. As if _in there_ is such a vile place to be.

"That hope no longer exists to protect you."

And… what exactly was protecting _you,_ dear brother? And what will protect you now?

"Betray me, and I will kill you."

And then Thor waits for an answer. Loki takes a breath. There is so much he could say; he's been offended on any number of levels. ( _Offended._ Not _hurt._ Hurt would be if he still cared what Thor thinks of him, which he _doesn't_. He has moved on, grown past all that. He has.)

Finally he settles on: " _Your brother_ was a fool." At that he sees Thor perk up a little, showing some disturbance, small cracks in his façade of calm. His brow is creased, he shifts restlessly on his feet. Loki weighs his options fast. His first instinct is to continue: _And we're better off without him, you and I. We'll have our vengeance. Let me out._ Not to challenge Thor, but rather to give him an out, to play the monster and let Thor get help without abandoning his righteous indignation.

But at the last second, he can't do it. Something stops him – self-pity maybe, the miserable prospect of being disowned by everyone _including himself_ is just too sad to face.

If _he_ has to feel sorry for himself… why shouldn't everyone else? "A soft, sentimental fool," he says instead, "Who loved you beyond reason, who would have done _anything_ for you, even though you never did a thing for him."

Now Thor looks distinctly uncomfortable. "Loki… I did not come here to rehash old quarrels."

_Quarrels._ As if he'd ever dared quarrel with Thor. He ignores it. "But the world is a hard place, Thor, and he needed someone who would champion him, keep him safe… put him first. You wouldn't do that. I did."

Thor sucks his breath in and looks away. He is visibly fighting the urge to argue. It's offensive that he thinks he has an argument… but, more importantly, the fact that he _wants_ to argue at least tells Loki that he's listening.

It's the first time he's managed to wound Thor in a while now, and it feels so good it makes him giddy, triumphant. "Your brother has given himself over to _me_ now. _I_ am what is left." He finds himself standing; he hasn't done that in days and his joints all creak painfully but he keeps it off his face. He finds himself casting illusion too – and he feels much better, much safer and more powerful, when he presents neat in his leathers and with his hair slicked out of his face. (He can see the reflection of it in the cell wall. He doesn't _feel_ any less destroyed, and his ratty hair is still brushing his neck annoyingly, but Thor doesn't need to know that.) "You deal with _me._ "

"With you." Thor finally turns to face him square on. "And after what I've seen from _you_ , I'm sure you see why I don't trust you."

"Mm." Loki paces the cell slowly, stepping over the broken furniture. "Can you trust my love? Would I still sacrifice myself for you without hesitation? I don't know." He can hear that his voice is unsteady, but he refuses to wonder why. He clears his throat. "But you can trust my rage."

Thor is quiet. Loki stares into the reflection and can _just_ make him out, a wavery figure in the background. Is that a fist clenching? "Very well," Thor says at last. Loki can hear him walk over to the control panel – too quickly, as if he's desperate to move away. _Good._ He hopes Thor's upset. Thor deserves it. "Then…" Thor clears his throat too. "Let's get started."

* * *

**TBC? I kinda like this one and I haz ideas; I might continue it. Let me know what you think.**


	42. In There Somewhere, part II

**A/N: Continuation of the previous chapter (41: In There Somewhere)**

* * *

As Loki dresses, Thor thinks over what he said. The accusations _are_ unjust – are they not? He used to do things for Loki all the time.

He's nervous about committing such terrible treason, and worried for Jane, and for all the realms, and Loki's nastiness is only making it more difficult to think clearly. That explains why he cannot produce one – _not one_ – example of having ever done something solely to please his brother. He knows he's _tried_ … or at least meant to try… wondering what presents he might bring for his birthday, imagining some complimentary thing he might say in front of Father. But he's not sure, now, that his plans evercame to fruition. Did he ever give Loki a gift that Loki actually liked? Did he ever defend Loki when Father punished him? It's true that Loki was impossible to please with presents, and that Father's punishments were typically just. But still.

"Ready?" Loki says brightly, and gives him a sly knowing look as if he has heard every thought.

"Almost. You'll also wear these." Thor shows him a pair of shackles. "When you need your hands you'll have them," he assures, "But until that time, more freedom will only tempt you to misbehave." … _And tempt me to kill you._ "We don't have room for foolishness."

Loki considers a moment, scowling, before finally offering his wrists. "You'll err on the side of sooner, rather than later, when it comes to removing these," he orders. "If the elves come upon us and I can't conjure, we'll both die. You can't fight everyone and defend your mortal all at once."

Thor nods. He's glad to see Loki showing sense, in this small thing at least. His brother may not be whole and _in there somewhere_ , as he once liked to hope, he might never be getting the old Loki back… but perhaps this new and evil-natured creature might be part his brother still. He reaches for Loki's hands.

…And at the last second, Loki snatches them away. "I _mean_ it, Thor," he says severely. "You'll take these off the _moment_ we sense trouble. You're asking for a lot of trust, for someone who's just threatened to kill me."

Thor swallows. Brother or not there is something _wrong_ about threatening Loki. But he reminds himself that he cannot relent. "You have my word," he says. "About the shackles, _and_ about the-, the killing. But I won't harm you without reason."

"Reason," Loki echoes. He sighs and shakes his head, laughing softly. And relinquishes his hands.

* * *

It's an hour later and Thor can't understand why the plan isn't working. It's a plan he made up himself and he _always_ makes the plans up himself, and they're always terrible, and at the last second Loki always works some trick or other to make them succeed. But this time, as he stands in the elf ship banging helplessly on the control panels while Loki stands useless beside him, he realizes that for once in his life Loki is _not_ going to find a solution.

He stares blankly, not understanding or believing, until out of nowhere he remembers his friends telling him some hard truths about that disastrous trip to Jotunheim all those years ago. "He never even meant for us to leave the city, Thor," Fandral had hissed. Fandral – who always seemed to like Loki so much! "It was a trick. He sabotaged the trip from the beginning."

Thor whips around suddenly to look at Loki's face. Loki's brow is creased and he's biting his lip, as if he's worried – or as if he's trying to _look_ worried. "Well, go on; keep pushing things," Loki says, gesturing impatiently at the controls.

Thor doesn't believe him. "You meant for this to happen," he accuses. "You knew this wasn't going to work."

"What? What do you mean?" Loki says, innocently… but there is commotion outside the ship and Loki's eyes dart towards it and now Thor is _sure._

"You plan for us to be recaptured!"

Loki doesn't answer him this time. Instead, with terrifying suddenness, he _throws_ himself face-first against the wall of the ship and twists, raking his flesh over the jagged buttons and levers, and then dives for the floor. _What-?_

But Thor has no time to puzzle it out, because just then the door bursts open. Guards swarm in. Thor moves fast to pull Jane away from them…

While Loki, bleeding from a dozen scrapes and scratches, crawls _towards_. "Guards: help me," he says, voice high and shaking. "I'm being kidnapped." And he raises his bound hands in supplication.

* * *

Thor is _fuming._ He can't recall a time when he's been this angry, _ever_ , he is physically shaking with rage, and he would kill Loki with his bare hands if not for the heavy rune-marked chains that are wound around him.

(He would _have_ to use his bare hands; Mjolnir sits on the floor beside the throne – Odin's now, and it won't come to him.)

"I don't know why you even _bother_ with dungeon guards," Loki is snarling. "They let him pull me from my cell and batter me and drag me into a _dark elf spaceship_ and no one did a damn thing! If that's how you care for your prisoners you might as well just execute me now and have done!"

He pushes his hair out of his face with his cuffed wrists – why does _he,_ the real traitor, wear only those light shackles while Thor is bound head to toe like a beast for the slaughter? – and winces in pain as a sleeve brushes one of his (self-inflicted!) wounds. "But I want to see _his_ head roll first," he adds, nodding viciously in Thor's direction. "It's only fair for him to be first at everything."

Odin takes his time. "Are you done?" he says at last – calmly.

"For now," Loki spits.

"Good." Odin stares long at him, and though he speaks no threat or warning Loki clearly hears one; he swallows hard and goes silent. Then Odin turns slightly in his seat, to face Thor head on. "Dare I ask, Thor: what were you thinking?"

Thor has been trying to plan what to say, to explain himself to Father, but he's never been the one with the gift of pretty speech and in the end the first thing he blurts out is: "Loki is a liar."

"Of course he is," Odin says – cold and steady. "We all know that. What were you thinking, freeing him?"

"You call this _free_?!" Loki interrupts, and at the king's gesture a guard – gauntleted – hits him across the face and sends him sprawling to the floor.

"If he speaks again," Odin says, "Silence him permanently. Thor? I am waiting."

Thor is distracted by the sight of Loki spitting blood while a guard stands over him with sword drawn. "I- I-, we cannot keep Jane in Asgard," he stammers at last. Remembering that much at least. "And- And I didn't _free_ Loki, nor kidnap him. I was only-…"

Loki is huffing with laughter from the ground.

"Shut up, Loki," he mutters. Then he gives up. "Father: you know what I did and why. What do you mean to do with me?" Surely Father will appreciate his directness. (And it's not as though he has any other option.)

"You are Asgard's greatest warrior, and while this threat hangs over us Asgard may yet have need of you," Odin says shortly. "After it has been dealt with… we will see. For now-" This to the guards "-Take him down to the dungeons."

"Sire," says one of the guards, "The dungeons were all but destroyed…"

Loki understands it before he does. "Oh, _no_ ," Loki groans. "Oh please no."

* * *

Thor sits against the wall of the filthy cell, the evidence of Loki's tantrums still all around him in the form of smashed food and stained walls. The bits of broken furniture, though, have been moved: upon being shoved into the cell together, the first thing he and Loki did was pick up the hunks of wood and form a barrier with them, without a word, dividing the cell in half in an attempt to keep the peace.

Thor can't even make good his promise to kill; Odin placed a strong magical compulsion on him to prevent him from laying a violent hand – _or instrument of any kind_ , an addition Loki wisely suggested himself – on his fellow prisoner.

All he can do is sit and glare daggers across the barricade.

"We could be here a while, Thor," Loki says at last. "Possibly thousands of years. Are you planning to wear that look the entire time? It's already boring me."

Loki sounds… calm. Easy. No sign of the venom of earlier, or the mockery that's characterized some of their latest conversations.

"Why?" Thor has to ask. "Why did you do it? If you didn't want to risk yourself I understand, but why not just refuse me?"

Loki shrugs. "If _I_ have to sit in prison, I don't see why you shouldn't, too." He folds his arms around his knees and rests his head. "Besides," he says, muffled by his clothing, "You insulted me."

"And- and you think I will insult you _less_ after you've betrayed me?"

"No." Loki raises his head and grins. "But I think that if I get you out of here now, now that you actually and truly need my help… you may insult me less _then_."

* * *

**TBC. One or two more parts to this, I think. Not quiiiite sure where it's going, but I think I have an idea.**


	43. In There Somewhere, part III

**A/N: Continuation of In There Somewhere (Chapters 41 and 42). Loki and Thor in a small room... childishness abounds.**

* * *

Thor does not look happy when he's informed that the first step of the "plan" is to simply wait for rescue.

"The cell needs to be opened from the outside," Loki points out. "Anyone can do it; I could explain it to a _mortal_ if I had to. In fact… I think I will."

"What?" Thor is frowning, suspicious.

"I whispered some things to Jane Foster as we were dragged from the ship," he explains. "It will take her a few hours to give her guards the slip, but as Heimdall has been relieved of his duties – it's a good thing you compromised him, by the way; he would have been almost impossible to work around – if she does as I told her she'll be down here some time tonight."

Thor shakes his head. "She will not come. Not on your word. She… knows to beware of you, Loki."

He grins. "What, you've told her that I am evil and dangerous?" He's gratified to see Thor's eyes drop, at least. "Well, then it's a good thing I didn't ask for her help gently. I said that if she _doesn't_ come, I'll strangle you in your sleep."

It doesn't look like Thor knows what to make of that. "She- she'll never make it," he protests.

"I swiped a guard's keys for her, and told her where to find a map and some sleeping potions. If she doesn't manage with all that, I'd say she's no fit match for a prince of Asgard anyway and Malekith is welcome to her."

Thor paces restlessly. "So… now what?"

Loki yawns. "Now we wait."

* * *

They wait. Thor fidgets. Eventually the fidgeting takes on a distinctive pattern, but Loki keeps the smile off his face and pretends he doesn't see. "What's the matter, Thor? Floor's feeling a little uncomfortable? Maybe now you're regretting not-"

"I need a toilet," Thor growls over him. "Where's the toilet in this place?"

Loki shrugs. "Magic." He spreads his hands, tugs at his cuffs. "Can't help you, brother. Sorry."

Thor stares a moment, then lets out an incredulous laugh. "You expect me to unchain you? After what you did earlier?"

Well, that's progress – it's fair at least. Better than telling him he should remain chained on _principle_ , because of his inherent inability to walk free without _misbehaving._ Loki grins. "No, I don't _expect_ you to. You're not that smart. But let me help you, Thor." He explains it slowly and seriously, as if to a child. "In here, the wards of the cell would prevent any really spectacular magic. So, a clever person would release me here, in relative safety, in order to gain my good will." He scoots forward and folds his hands behind his head, pretending to recline against the wall. It's a ridiculously uncomfortable position but Thor won't see that; he's probably too busy seeing red anyway.

"In any event," he goes on, "If I were _trying_ to betray you, I wouldn't act up here in the cell. I'd cooperate with you until we were free and you were relying on me as an integral part of your idiot plot, and _then_ I'd turn my coat. If I were trying to betray you, that is."

Thor's breaths are becoming audible. His impotent rage is a glorious thing and Loki wants more of it. "How badly do you need that toilet?" he laughs.

"Not badly enough to unlock you," Thor says through clenched teeth.

Loki sits up straight and pastes on an expression of wide-eyed surprise. "Oh-! No, you didn't think I was proposing _that_ , did you? That I'd conjure you a toilet on condition of your removing the chains?"

Thor frowned. "Then… if not that, then what were you proposing?"

"Nothing." Loki smiles. "I'm proposing nothing. I'd rather force you to piss on the floor than have my hands free."

He says that solely to annoy… but after the words are out, he realizes with a start that it's actually the truth. He laughs at himself, deriding his own pettiness and immaturity. How pathetic is it, that this is the only outlet he has for his malice right now – and he's so desperate that he will take it?

Thor, of course, sees the laughter and takes it ill. "If Father had not forbidden me from beating your face in," he growls, "Rest assured that that is what I would be doing at this very moment."

Loki rolls his eyes. "He did more than _forbid_ you, you idiot. He used magic. You know: _magic_. That silly womanly power you're always so contemptuous of. How fitting that it should be what protects me from you now, don't you think?"

Thor smolders. And an hour later he pisses on the floor, in the corner, with his back turned. Loki watches and laughs, just to annoy him. (Even though he discovers he doesn't really like to see the cell defiled after all; he'd come to accept that the place could be home for quite a while and he's feeling a little possessive of it.)

Afterwards Thor says: "And don't think I will release you to conjure _yourself_ a toilet when it's your turn to need one."

"Oh, I'll have no objection to relieving myself on the floor. We Jotuns aren't particular about that sort of thing." He has no idea where _that_ came from, or why he has to be so contrary and difficult. But he is in a bad mood, and doesn't feel either able or willing to restrain himself, so he goes on. "In fact I think I'll take care of it now."

He gets up, unbuttons, and walks up to the barricade.

"No-!" Thor starts, but he can't _do_ anything to stop it as Loki pisses over into his half of the cell.

"There, much better." He smiles and goes to sit back in his corner. He hopes – _really_ hopes – that Odin's enchantment holds. Otherwise he is in for a very serious beating, possibly one that will kill him in the end. Thor isn't used to having his temper restrained, and it is building to heights Loki has never seen.

For some reason, the thought frightens him. He doesn't _like_ the idea of being murdered down the dungeons just because he can't help being an ass and Thor gets provoked unreasonably easily. What a waste – what a stupid way to go.

"Sorry – I'm sorry," he volunteers suddenly. Thor doesn't answer; he's just breathing deep and hard, like a bull. "Honestly. You can come sit over here if you want." He slides along the wall to make space, and gestures. "I'm sorry. Imprisonment is no good for _my_ temper either."

Thor rises, chest still heaving, and Loki wonders whether it was a mistake to invite him over.

But he just crosses the furniture line, and sits against the wall – well out of battering distance.

It's silent for a while. Loki wonders what friendly thing he can say to make amends, but anything he can think of Thor will mistake for something nasty. Eventually, though, it's Thor who speaks. "Clean it up."

"What?"

"Clean it up," Thor says, low and measured, "Or your apologies are meaningless."

That's fair, he supposes, and he _did_ intend to apologize. So he heaves himself to his feet, surprised at how much it hurts – how tense he must have been – and comes to Thor to hold out his wrists.

Thor just stares at him with arched eyebrows. Makes no move to get out the key.

"Oh- oh, come _on,_ " Loki protests.

Thor just waits.

" _Really_?"

"You've torn half the stuffing out of your couch, haven't you? Use that." He sounds almost sullen.

Loki _hates_ himself for giving ground, for feeling guilty, but he supposes he has done rather grave insult to Thor's pride and it's not surprising Thor took it hard. The powerlessness is probably not helping him either, he tells himself, and that thought cheers him up enough to swallow this indignity.

He inclines his head, almost a bow, and steps over the barricade. Thor's right, there is stuffing everywhere, and he gets down on his hands and knees with a loud sigh to start wiping.

Thor doesn't say anything to make it easier… but he doesn't rub it in, either. Loki finishes with his own mess and crawls over to Thor's, shoving some stuffing down there too so that at least they don't have to sit surrounded by puddles of their own filth like a couple of animals.

When he's done he stands and wipes his hands on his pants – which requires some mild contortions, because of the shackles. "There." He straightens up and tosses his head back. "All hail the glorious princes of Asgard." Once upon a time he would have said _sons of Odin,_ but for now, this is the best he can do.

Thor looks up at him, and – obviously unwillingly – huffs with laughter.

* * *

**TBC. Ok, it will be one or two more parts still. Sorry, I didn't realize how long this was going to get.**


	44. In There Somewhere, part IV

**A/N: Last part. Sorry for this being the end – I fully understand if you feel unsatisfied. But I wanted this to be about them repairing/evolving their relationship, and not let it turn into an action epic, so… I stopped here.**

**Sorry sorry sorry!**

* * *

_"Jane Foster," Loki murmurs without looking, while they're standing outside the elf ship waiting for guards to finish subduing Thor. "Nod if you're listening."_

_She nods – what else is she supposed to do? – and immediately Loki launches into an obviously rehearsed set of directions that begin with: "Thor's plan was horrible; I have a better one."_

She has now decided, with the benefit of hindsight, that Loki's plan is horrible too. It involves Jane raiding the dead queen's bedroom for sleeping potions – which Loki neglected to tell her were nestled in amongst _other_ potions whose effect Jane has no idea about. The best she can do is hope that the sleeping potion was the one Frigga used most frequently, the half-filled vial – she figures poison was more likely to be the sealed ones. Hopefully.

Since it's better than just sitting around doing _nothing,_ she drugs her guard (by spiking her own drink and convincing him to take the first sip) and sneaks back down to Odin's library – which Loki had known she'd visited; his "small talk" during the few minutes she'd known him was starting to seem less and less empty. She pulls the map scrolls from the rack by the door, right where Loki said they would be, and charts her course.

She runs into two sets of guards on the way down, and puts them both off by smiling innocently and answering: "I don't know – I just go where the Allfather tells me. He said to make a left up ahead and go two hallways past that. No no, I can manage myself, thanks."

Of course it's only a matter of time before they _tell_ someone they've seen her, and then she is fucked.

She is going to _kill_ Loki.

When she reaches the dungeons, though, she discovers that Thor may have beaten her to it. He is sitting on the floor, _on_ Loki, who is facedown apparently being smothered in a cushion.

"Jane!" Thor says brightly – and waves.

"Uh." She squints at Loki, who is twitching spastically. "Is he okay? He's the one who helped me get down here, you know, so you might not want to… um…"

"He is fine." Thor reaches down to pat him – hard. "I have merely discovered a way of managing him despite Father's orders, that's all."

"Uh… Right." She finds the control panel in the wall and walks over to it. "So… talk to me. How do I open this?"

Thor heaves a sigh, and climbs off. "Loki?"

Loki picks himself up slowly. Jane notices that he's somehow become unchained – and that his hair has once again undergone transformation. In the photos from New York it looked greasy. This morning it looked like he'd slicked it on purpose. Now… it's hanging loose and natural-looking, in waves.

At least until he runs his hands over it, at which point it slicks itself down again with a shower of sparkles. She's distracted. "How did you do that?" she says, coming close to the electric-looking cell wall. "I mean, it's magic obviously, but… but is it _replacing_ your hair with other hair, or are you like beaming gel into it somehow, or…" She waits.

"What – this?" Loki flashes with sparkle – without even touching this time – and the ratty hair is back. "No, that's just- just illusion." It seemed the question's surprised him, made him self-conscious even, but he finds his footing again fast. "I'm the same underneath; just masking my appearance. It's an excellent trick – see?" He flashes, and makes his hair stand up in a mohawk. Flashes again and he's wearing a dress. Flashes again and he looks like Thor – _just_ like Thor.

That's a disturbing trick, and one she'll have to beware of. Actually… when she looks closer, while she certainly can't see through the magic, there's something very _Loki_ about the smile, and she's confident that he could never fool her.

"Loki is a master of illusion," Thor says, and he doesn't sound fun now – he sounds heavy and disapproving. "It comes with being a master of deceit."

"Oh – brother, you _wound_ me." Loki clasps his hands over his (Thor's) heart. Then he reverts back to himself – shaggy hair and all – and points. "Get over to the panel, Jane Foster. I'll talk you through it."

* * *

As soon as Loki is out, Jane walks up and slaps him, hard. "That's for this morning!"

He only laughs it off and tells Thor, again, that he likes her. Then he looks back at her and says with seriousness: "You should thank me. I'm about to get the aether out of you."

She frowns. "But I thought Odin said…"

"Contrary to popular belief," Loki says, with his nose in the air, "And definitely contrary to _Odin's_ belief, Odin does not know everything."

She snorts. "I can buy that. He called me a goat." She cocks her head, eyes narrowed. "I can see the family resemblance, actually. Didn't _you_ go around SHEILD calling people ants the last time you dropped by?"

She expects him to laugh, but instead, he stiffens and draws away from her. "I'll like you a good deal less if you start comparing me to that stubborn, arrogant old bigot," he says, and he pretends he's teasing but she hears real ice in his voice.

Thor takes a step forward – what, to _defend_ her? Or Odin? (Or Loki?). Either way she doesn't like it, so she makes sure she gets her two cents in. "Well, you're not _old_ ," she snipes back. "Yet."

Something bad crosses his face and he reaches out suddenly to grab her. "Don't-" she says, pulling away, because the aether is going to knock him on his ass and she really didn't intend-…

Oh: Nothing happens.

"I told you, Thor," Loki says without taking his eyes off her. "It likes me."

* * *

She tries again to yank free of him, but she doesn't have a prayer. So she stops struggling and looks up. "Very nice: you're stronger than I am. Now let go, and stop bullying." Human men have responded well to the line in the past, and Loki is no different – he releases her, with a frown.

"Don't be silly: I told you, I'm helping you."

"Jane," Thor tries to put in, but she waves him to silence with irritation.

"Helping me how?"

Loki looks even more annoyed. "Do you know what Odin intends to do with you?"

"Yes – use me as bait. He said…" She trails off, as she sees Loki shaking his head.

" _Afterwards,_ " Loki clarifies. "Do you know what he intends for _afterwards_."

Jane thinks she sees what he's implying, and snorts. "I'd like to see him try. He _can't_ kill me – aside from the fact that Thor wouldn't allow it, this stupid stuff protects me. And regardless of what your _healers_ think, I seem to be surviving its _energies_ just fine." She's not as confident as she sounds about that last bit, but she _is_ confident that once she has access to her equipment again she'll be able to analyze and handle whatever the stuff is doing to her.

But Loki shakes his head again. "He wouldn't try to kill you – he's no fool; he'll know the aether can't be got rid of that way. He'll follow in the footsteps of dear King Bor."

"What – lock it up underground in some non-dimension hole in the universe? But he _can't_. It's…" she blinks. "It's inside me," she finishes quietly. Now she gets it.

Thor breaks in again. "Loki, don't frighten her. You have _no reason_ to think Father would do such a thing," he says, disapproving.

"Of course I do," Loki says. "It's the only sensible course – and we know how Odin loves his cold hard sense." Chronic liar or not, he seems… well…

She draws herself up. "Okay, you've officially scared me. Whatever your plan is: count me in."

* * *

It turns out that Loki's plan is strikingly similar to Thor's – the only difference being that Jane is now supposed to stay safe in Asgard, as a decoy to keep Odin from interfering, and Loki is going to host the aether in her stead.

_Loki._

Ah, _there's_ the catch. She starts to protest and Thor tries to stop her – which makes Loki laugh long and loud. "Thor would rather jeopardize all of existence than risk your life," he observes. Then he shrugs. "Anyway I'm the best choice; the aether will be glad to move from a weaker vessel to a stronger one."

"Then why not Thor? No offense," she adds, looking him up and down, "But if it's strength we're looking for…"

The distraction fails; Loki doesn't look offended in the slightest. "Thor's not suitable," he says shortly. "The aether is destruction, it's _for_ destruction. There's nothing in Thor to draw it."

"Bullshit. Thor destroys things all the time."

Thor doesn't look happy about that, and Loki throws him a sideways look that Jane could swear is _affectionate._ "That's only because he doesn't think. He doesn't _mean_ to ruin things – he doesn't stand around rejoicing in the wreckage."

"What, and you do?"

"Give me the aether and let's find out," he says, silky-smooth. "I'll reduce the elf ships to splinters – and the elves to ash."

She can see something crazy in him, something angry and crazy… but although Thor looks troubled he isn't arguing, and she doesn't want this curse in her anyway, and-… and… and she can actually feel that Loki is right; it's _drawn_ to him. So she says just: "Okay."

Loki gives her a smile with some warmth in it. "Good girl. See, Thor? She agrees. Now stand down."

Thor backs away from her, giving reassurances that don't help her much. She mostly tunes him out. "What do I have to do?" she says to Loki.

"Nothing. Just relax. If this hurts you… sorry."

Oh, _that_ doesn't freak her out at all. She closes her eyes and tries to forget it. Something hits her – magic? – and she can feel the aether kicking up in answer.

* * *

Afterwards there's no visible sign of the change, but Loki insists he can feel unusual power coursing through him. He says he's ready to fight. He hassles Thor about making a bet over the body count.

Jane, on the other hand, is completely exhausted. She is wiped out so suddenly and thoroughly that it's all she can do to pick her way slowly back to her room. She's flanked by "guards" the whole way, Thor and Loki under illusions, and more than once one of them has to catch her arm and help pull her along. (She hopes it's Thor, but the guards look almost identical in their ugly helmets and she can't tell.)

When they drop her off, they poof the disguises off for a moment to regroup.

Thor sighs. "You know this plan of yours is going to get us killed," he gripes half-heartedly.

Loki laughs. "Now, Thor." Purring and indulgent. "Have a little faith. When's the last time a plan of mine got us killed?"

Jane expects Thor to snap at him for not taking the whole thing seriously… but, weirdly, Thor instead chuckles and grabs him behind the neck. For a second it looks like they're going to kiss. Loki's mouth quirks into almost a smile, for just a second, and then they flare with sparkles and are guards again. She shakes her head hard to clear the image.

The world doesn't end, and the next morning an Asgardian entourage politely but silently returns her to Earth, so… apparently Loki's plan worked. She'll ask Thor for details when he comes to visit her again.

( _When._ Not _if._ Of course they weren't _really_ going to kiss. Of course.)

* * *

The End.


	45. Frigga is Hardcore

**A/N: Frigga being kinda hardcore.**

* * *

Frigga came down to the dungeons in person for once, not as an illusion, and shooed away all the guards. "I have something to show you," she said, patting the sack she had brought.

Loki wasn't sure he had ever in his life been this grateful for a present. He tried not to bounce around and ask  _what is it,_  but as she conjured a table and a candlestick to see by he couldn't help saying just that – about a dozen times.

"This," she said at last, and opened the sack to reveal his spellbook.

Loki couldn't breathe. His spellbook,  _his,_ the enormous volume that he had been writing in since childhood. The book where he had recorded all of his research, his experiments and improvements and triumphs. He privately believed that  _no_  sorcerer in any realm, ever, had had a compilation like this. He'd had the best libraries to study from, excellent teachers, excellent talent. He'd done work on magics from across the universe. Written everything down and kept it secret.  _His_ private stash of knowledge, which even Odin didn't know how to open.

"How did you get that?" he whispered. She had told him, early on, that his rooms had been sealed up and all access forbidden.

She sighed. "Your father has finally decided to clear out your chambers, and I can guess what he plans to do with your things. I slipped in while the guards were working and spirited this away."

She had run a terrible risk, he knew that at once. Odin would be  _furious_ if he found out that such a dangerous artifact had escaped the purge.

Still, he was glad she'd done it. If anything had happened to it... It was his greatest pride, the sum total of his life's work. Irreplaceable.

Frigga was running her hand over the heavy cover. "May I?" she said softly.

"Of course." He spoke the words to open it – it would open for none but him – and watched as she bent to read.

"You've done fantastic work, Loki," she said, turning pages.

"I know." The cage's barriers shimmered the air, which meant he couldn't really read along with her – only watch the candlelight flicker over the text, watch as his frenzied cramped handwriting gave way to smoother, more flowing penmanship as he grew older and more confident. "I don't believe there's any finer spellbook in all the realms."

At that, Frigga looked up with arched eyebrows. "You have never seen mine." Then she smiled and bent her head to read more. "No, you're right. You've made a much more thorough study than I have of certain fields. Although…" He caught a glimpse of an illustration and realized she was reading through a sex spell. "It seems they are not all fields whose study I would have advised and encouraged."

"Ah… sorry."

She was still flipping through sex pages. "Don't apologize. It seems your research was quite, ahem, thorough. I applaud your sense of dedication."

" _Mother._ " He gestured for her to turn to another section. Cheeks burning. "Please."

"Oh, very well." She moved on, reading through some of his other work. "You would have been devastated if this were destroyed."

He nodded. Even the idea hurt. "I miss it," he admitted. "I wouldn't complain about Father's sentence at all, if he'd only let me have my book and a couple of pens. I could be…  _doing_ something."

He wondered whether Frigga had any way of sneaking it in to him. If she would dare.

"Well, that's out of the question," she said bluntly, and he tried not to feel disappointed. "I assume, as a second choice, you would want  _me_ to take charge of it?"

"Yes." He'd always meant it to go to her if something happened to him. She was the one who would appreciate it, would honor everything he'd done. His work should be passed on to those who could use it. "In the event I'm not able to keep it myself… I would want you to have it."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Loki. But your father wouldn't take kindly to my passing it in to you. And he doesn't seem about to release you anytime soon."

"I know." He found himself pacing. "For some reason I cannot fathom, Odin seems to have taken issue with my behaving  _exactly_  the way he does."

He glanced up and saw Frigga looking at him full on, pained and sorrowful. "He's right," she said slowly – as if believing it for the first time. "You refuse to understand what you've done."

"I know what I've done," he spat. Not in the mood to argue. "I've killed a few people. How very sad; the poor mortals were people too. Yes yes, I understand."

She bit her lip. "Those were people's  _children,_  Loki," she said quietly. "People's loves, people's families. Some mortals died, yes, and their troubles are over. But what of the ones you left behind? The ones whose lives you destroyed?" He couldn't look at her sadness – he turned and paced slowly in the other direction. "You took from them – took  _everything_ ," she went on. "All that mattered to them, all they've loved and worked for, all they meant to leave behind. I truly don't think you appreciate what you did."

There was a moment of silence. Then, a sudden discordant tearing sound echoed off the walls and he whipped around to see Frigga holding a fistful of pages –  _pages_  – over the candle flame. "Perhaps this will help show you."

* * *

Loki took it about as hard as she'd expected. He screamed and bellowed and burned himself on the barrier, shrieking nothing but  _no_ and  _stop_ at first, and then, as more pages went up in smoke and her intent became apparent, wailing for mercy, pleading with her. He tried invoking her love. He tried reasoning, bargaining, promises.

After a while he began to threaten. Not  _I'll kill you,_ as he might have said to anyone else, but  _I'll hate you,_  which was probably true and was quite painful. But she had been braced for it, and she didn't stop.

She tore the pages out a few at a time, sometimes reading off the title of the spell or section, listened to Loki moan in misery and gasp out what effort that part had cost him. But she knew it was more than that. He was also thinking of how much pride he'd taken, how happy the magics had made him. He was weeping as it was all ripped away.

She understood that he would never have it again. Even if he got out of the cage someday, the spellbook would never be recreated. It represented too much experimentation over too much time; Loki wouldn't be able to bear trying to reconstruct it, knowing the project would inevitably be a failure. The best he'd be able to do would be scraps, half a collection, and it would drive home all over again how much was missing. Knowing that, he wouldn't try to rebuild his work (even if Odin would ever consider letting him!). He would mourn its loss forever.

There were thousands of pages, and the burning took a long time. She had to spell new candles twice, and her voice grew hoarse from speaking over Loki's demented roaring and noisy sobs. But she kept at it, with steady determination. By the time she was done, she was confident that enough had been taken from him, enough lost and wasted, that he would be able to understand his crimes if ever he chose to try.

She stepped up to the barrier. Loki was huddled on the floor. He had been pleading  _Mother enough, please, no more, leave me the rest I beg you_  almost until the end, but now that there was no hope left he was just crying.

 _His_  voice had mostly gone, too, so that it was a little easier for her to be heard now. "I understand exactly what I've done to you," she said over his whimpers. "I grieve for it. Now  _you_ need to understand what you've done to others. It needs to hurt you as this has hurt me. Or you will never again see the world outside of this cell."

Loki's eyes were red and swollen. He gave no indication he'd heard her.

"Loki? Get some rest. I'll return next week, and we will talk." She didn't like to rush him, but Odin had not given her much time. If Loki didn't have a change of heart by the end of the summer...

She didn't tell him that yet, though. She thought he had had more than enough harshness from her for the day.

* * *

**The End.**

**Sorry guys! I wanted to see how non-softie Frigga would play. Let me know what you think!**


	46. Consultation - part I

**Guest appearance by Tony Stark!  This is a post-TTDW ficlet inspired by this picture:  http://9gag.com/gag/abqxNQB**

**There will be one more part, hopefully up tomorrow or the next day.**

* * *

It would be ( _Thorish_ ) arrogant and foolish to approach Tony Stark without a certain level of caution.

But there was no need to _overestimate_ the man.   He was dangerous among his friends and his machines, but without them - and separated from the incorporeal slave who managed his tower - he was all but helpless.

So Loki scooped Stark up from the street one day, and brought him through the ether to a little pocket of nowhere.   He provided no walls or ceiling or floor, so that all Stark would see was an endless expanse of space in every direction.  He vanished the devices the man wore on his belt, in case they were weapons or communicators. 

When he was satisfied with the arrangement he allowed himself to become visible.  “Tony Stark.”  A nice menacing purr.

Perhaps too menacing.  Stark had been standing frozen, but at the sound of Loki’s voice his hands flew to his hips, hunting.

“Don’t bother; I’ve disarmed you.”  As if he had a prayer of fighting back anyway!  (And as if fighting made any sense.  What exactly was his grand plan for escape?).

Stark’s chest hitched once, twice, as if he meant to breathe and couldn’t.  Odd; Loki had made certain to conjure plenty of suitable atmosphere.

Suddenly - too fast to process, much less prevent - Stark’s clever little fingers touched a secret spot on his wristwatch, freed a pill, and stuffed it into his mouth.

 _Poison._ “How dare you!”  Loki was upon him quickly enough to prevent swallowing.  “Spit it out,” he ordered, holding the jaw almost hard enough to break it.  “Spit now or I promise you’ll live long enough to regret it.  Now.  Spit _now._ ”

He squeezed until Stark’s mouth fell open and the pill dropped from his tongue.  _Better._

Then, in case there were any other surprises hidden away, Loki stripped and bound him with a gesture.  _There._

Then he bent to retrieve the pill from where it floated by his feet.  “Neat,” he conceded.  It was far smaller than the vial he himself always carried; it was a round white speck one could hide in even the most delicate piece of jewelry.  “But again: _how dare you_ try to poison one of my prisoners before I’m done with him.”

Stark was gaping at the stars above him, mouth working, still looking like he couldn’t take in air. 

Perhaps he’d squeezed a little harder than he’d meant?  “Stark?  _Stark._   Look at me.”

Stark did look then, but his eyes were wild and he was shaking his head.  “Gimme,” he wheezed.  “Gimme it.”

“What - this?”  Loki held up the pill.  “Hush.  You have no need of it.  I offer you no harm.”  He waved it away into nothingness. 

“Give it back!”

The tone was ( _Thorlike_ ) demanding and insistent, and Loki cuffed him for it.  “Silence, you mortal fool,” he hissed.  But he would win no friends that way, so he paused and made himself speak more calmly.  “You should thank me for acting so quickly.  You almost killed yourself for no reason.”

Stark frowned.  “Huh - killed myself?”  His gaze finally cleared a little.  “ _Oh._   No no, that’s-... that’s not poison.  Just give it here.”

“Oh?”  Loki grinned and gestured for an explanation; a clever lie was always entertaining and he’d be interested to see what the man came up with.

Stark took another few breaths - uneven and ragged.  “It’s Ativan, you son of a bitch.  Okay?”

* * *

Loki vanished-... flickered, really.  He was back in a second.  “Ativan,” he echoed thoughtfully.  “Lo-ra-ze-pam.  A drug that’s meant as an antidote to fear.”  He blinked a few times.  “Have I got that right?”

“I don’t _fear_  you, you toenail,” Tony shot.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”  Even managed to look him in the eyes.  “I’m just having a panic attack, that’s all.  It needs to be managed in short order or I’m going to be useless for the next couple of hours.  Give me my damn medication.  There’s another one in my-”

“Here.”  An amber bottle materialized in Loki’s hand.  “Take what you need.”

Before Tony could bitch about how the hell was he supposed to open the thing, one of his wrists suddenly tingled and the ropes melted away.  Even in the grip of a genuine freakout he was able to feel annoyed.  “Show-off,” he muttered, and snatched the bottle out of Loki’s inhuman, ice-cold hand.  He managed the cap (righty!  child-proof maybe, but very few containers were Tony-Stark-Proof under any circumstances) shook out a pill and popped it.

The minute he crushed it with his tongue he felt better, which he kind of hated himself for because it told him that on some level this was all in his head.  “Whatever evil plot you’re plotting is going to have to wait a few minutes,” he said into the silence.  “This needs a sec to kick in.”  His voice sounded far away, and not really his own.  _I’m light-headed,_ he thought at himself, slow and clear.  _That’s all it is.  We’re okay.  Breathe._

Of course, even as his heart started to slow and his ears stopped ringing, he knew he _wasn’t_ okay, not by a long shot.  He was here in the middle of some nowhere-land space room, at the mercy of none other than fucking Loki of all fucking people, Loki who was supposed to be dead, Loki who was humming brightly as he retied the wrist that had been so briefly liberated.

(Tied it by _hand_ , no magic this time, so that Tony could feel every loop of the rope as it went on, every cinch as it was tightened.  Bastard.).

“That’s an Asgardian lullaby, by the way,” Loki said as he finished with the last knot.  He was standing to the side where Tony couldn’t see, but that asshole smile of his was audible.  “Meant to soothe frightened children.”

“Fuck off; I have every right to have issues after what I’ve been through,” Tony snapped.  His therapist would be proud of him: he shot that off reflexively, firmly... as if he _believed_ it.

“Of course.”  Loki stepped back into his line of vision and spread his hands.  “But I came to you because I need your help... and I need the help of an engineer, not an invalid or a madman.”  He was pacing.  “Are you well enough to build machines?”

 _Build machines?_ What was he, five?

The gist was clear enough, though.  And insulting.  Apparently he’d never heard the story of how the whole Iron Man thing got started in the first place.  “I can _build machines_ when I’m too shitfaced to walk,” he snarled.  “But you’ve got a hell of a way of asking.”  He made a show of tugging on the ropes. “And aren’t you supposed to be heroically dead, anyway?”

He was still waiting for the part where he started to feel relaxed and woozy.  He wasn’t sure it was supposed to take this long.  Maybe the doctor gave him the wrong dosage.  Maybe Loki grabbed the wrong bottle.  Or maybe the calming-down thing only happened when _the cause of your fucking panic attacks wasn’t standing right in front of you_.

“My heroic death is not your concern,” Loki said - and it was a little brittle, as if Tony had found a sore spot.  Before he could keep poking, though, Loki went on.  “And the fact that you’re bound and naked is entirely your own fault.  You’ll recall it began when _you_ started lunging for mystery potions without asking permission.”

Mystery potions?  But more importantly....  “Per _mission_?”  He could feel himself becoming seriously pissed off.  

“One asks one’s captor for _permission_ ,” Loki snapped.  Haughty and dangerous as Tony had ever seen him.  “Had I approached you as a guest - which I might have were there the slightest shred of trust between us - things would be different.”

Tony swallowed.  Summoned up all the nerve he had, and talked back.  “Well perhaps one doesn’t build machines for one’s _captor.”_   It actually sounded right.  The perfect blend of offended and offending.  “If you’ve got a project you want help with - and I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you wouldn’t even bother asking me unless it’s a project I can get behind, because I sure as shit will not help you with it otherwise - you should let me down and get me a stiff drink.”

* * *

TBC

I seem to remember in Iron Man 3 he says that he’s not on medication, but that he should be.  I’m going to go ahead and assume that he’s started carrying a pill or two for emergencies, because he’d be an idiot not to.

Let me know what you think!  (And yes I know I know, I owe everybody Family.  RL is busy but I'm working on it.)


	47. Consultation - part 2

**A/N:  This got waaaay longer than I meant!   And went in a totally different direction than I’d expected.  That’s the way of these things, I guess.  Sorry!!**

* * *

Loki conjured a table and chairs, and by the time Stark was clothed and comfortably seated - still not back to earth though; he would not be trusted _that_ far - he seemed to have calmed down.  “Well?  Drink?” he reminded, gesturing impatiently for it. 

The insolence was teasing, almost friendly, so Loki didn’t take offense.  “Nice try,” he teased back.  “If you mix drinks with that medicine then it _will_ poison you.” 

Stark rolled his eyes.  “Says the learned Dr. Loki.”

“Says _your own_ doctor.  The instructions he gave you indicate that-”

“My doctor’s a _she_ , first of all.”  Stark sighed.  “And _fine._ Okay.  Coffee, then, if it’s not too much trouble.”

He conjured a pot and two cups, but Stark poured only for himself.  “So.  This project?”  The mortal’s hands were steady and his gaze sharp.  Loki began to feel he could have confidence in this man after all - which was heartening, since he did not yet have a viable backup plan.

“I need a device like the one in your chest,” he said simply.

Stark blinked.  “Dude.”  His brow knitted briefly, he opened his mouth a few times as if considering and rejecting a series of responses, and then finally said: “You kidnapped me for _that_?” 

Loki frowned.

“I mean - I mean, okay, it’s not like you can go buy them at Radio Shack, but man my company _makes_ arc reactors.”  He set down his coffee to be able to gesture more fluidly, talking with his hands (as if his wildly chattering mouth couldn’t do the job alone!).  “For starters there’s one powering my tower.  A _giant_ one.  Which you know about.  Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just, you know, villainously steal one from somewhere instead of kidnapping the Iron Man and trying to make him do your villainous bidding?  Think about it.”

A reasonable mistake.  “No no, you misunderstand,” Loki said, once Stark paused to sip his drink.  He touched himself on the chest.  “I need it _here._ Just like yours.”

Stark cocked his head.  “Well I know imitation is the highest form of flattery and I'm totally flattered and all, but.  You don’t have heart problems and you don’t need to power a suit.  What exactly are you hoping it’ll do for you?”

It was hard to show his cards, even to a mortal who meant nothing, but it was necessary.  He made himself speak plainly.  “Defend me from the scepter," he said.  "That is all.”

* * *

Tony winced and took a minute to digest that.  “Why does it not surprise me that SHIELD has lost track of the scepter,” he muttered at last.  “Great.  So: enlighten me.  The glowstick of destiny is where, exactly?  And in whose possession?”

“That’s not your concern,” Loki snapped, but Tony gave him a long level _look_... and eventually he relented.  “Thanos has it - again.”

“In which case what’s a Thanos?  Your old boss, no?”  He remembered the name from Selvig’s notes but there hadn’t been much there to go on.  Something about widespread destruction and death without mercy.  The usual.

Loki gave a jerky nod.

“Tell me about him.  He’s not human, I'm guessing.”

“Thanos?”

Tony was used to finding normal people slow, but Loki had never struck him as a dummy and this was starting to make him impatient.  “Yeah, him.  Cmon: what is he?  What does he look like?  How did you meet?  What _planet_ does he even come from?  You know - give me a rundown.  Knowledge is power, and all.”

“Thanos...”  Loki was still sitting frozen.  Except for his eyes - those were blinking rapidly.  “Thanos is-...  He-...”

He didn’t look so good.  Confused and sort of breathless.  “You okay?”, Tony said, even though he _hated_ to sound concerned.

“What?”  Loki’s eyes were bright and wet and unfocused.

“Whoa.  Are you-?”  _Going to cry?_ He caught himself in time though, which was good; everybody knew Loki had ego issues.  “Are you freaking out?”  No answer, which he’d take as a yes.  “Okay, well, that’s cool, it happens.  Here,” he said, reaching for his pill bottle.  “Sharing is caring.  Take one, trust me, it helps.”

Loki did and then sat with his elbows on his knees, hands steepled in front of his face.  He was silent for a while, and Tony took the opportunity to really look around and notice that they seemed to be in space.  Fucking _space._   What happened if Loki fell apart for real and couldn’t sustain whatever hocus-pocus kept the atmosphere copacetic?

Asgardians maybe absorbed drugs faster than regular people, because it didn’t seem long at all before Loki said down to his lap: “You simply caught me by surprise; I wasn’t prepared to think about Thanos and the thoughts are not pleasant.”  He sounded tired, but his voice was steady now and when he looked up his gaze was clear.  “I suppose it’s fair for you to ask me questions.  What do you want to know?”

A far cry from that _attitude_ he’d shown up with last time, but maybe that wasn’t surprising.  Tony knew better than most how bad experiences could mess with a person’s mind.

“Something.  Anything.  It’s just I can’t charge ahead with no information other than the guy’s first name, you know?  So just... just tell me something that will get me on board with this.  Tell me about _one_ thing Thanos did or does or is planning that would make me think we should-”

“Fine.”  Loki cut him off, sharp.  “But I’m afraid I’m not up for _telling,_ Stark - you’ll just have to use your imagination.  Thanos did this.”

He shimmered - that magic glow Tony had seen for the first time in Stuttgart and wondered about ever since...

_Holy shit._    Except this time it wasn’t armor that melted away.  It was his face.

Gone was Loki’s clear skin, his neat pretty features.  What took their place was a mess of scar tissue, smooth and shiny in some places, lumpy and twisted in others.   His nose was totally gone, most of his lips too, and his eyes shone from under an uneven and browless forehead.  Chemical burn maybe?  Acid?

“Satisfied?” Loki said, and flashed a set of jagged broken teeth in an expression Tony had no hope of reading.  After a moment the magic glow returned him his sneering good looks.  “If you need to see more, I expect it goes about halfway down my chest.”

Tony swallowed.  “Your...”

“No.”  He held up a hand.   “Don’t tell me what it looks like; I don’t want to know.  I wear the illusion for a reason.”

“Okay.”  Tony could respect that.  He’d avoided a couple of mirrors in his day.   Even changed out the one in his bathroom, for a high one just big enough to shave by, so that he didn’t have to stop and stare every time he got out of the shower.  “Wow.”

“I’m told that Thanos has obliterated entire populations in this way; has rained the destruction down on their cities, dousing men women and children alike.”  He shrugged.  “Though I couldn’t swear to that; all I have are the stories.”

At this point Tony was pretty willing to believe them.

“On a more personal note,” Loki went on, “I was told that if I failed to deliver him the Tesseract - which I have - then what I’ve already experienced would be a pleasant dream compared to what awaits me.” He paused and stared off... and if he was lying now, Tony would personally buy him a shelf full of Oscars.  “ _You will long for something as sweet as pain_ , _”_ he intoned, empty and faraway.  “That’s what I was told.”

He started moving again, shook off the haunted look, and flashed Tony a smile.  (The smile, _that_ was acting).  “So I’m sure you understand why this confrontation is so important to me.  I have excellent plans in place, but if I show up and Thanos is able to enslave me with a gesture...”

Tony nodded.  “Right.”

“Will you help?  I’ll offer good value in exchange.”

He’d been waiting for this part.  “You fucking better.  For starters, from now on you look for your _throne_ someplace else.”

“Of course.”  Loki waved the condition away as if it wasn’t important.  “You need not make your demands now; I expect you’ll have a whole list of them and unless they seriously interfere with me I’ll meet them as best I can.”

Tony whistled.  Should the generosity make him suspicious?  “A blank check from Loki,” he mused aloud.

“...Which you’ll only be able to cash if I survive.”

“Ah.”  The generosity seemed a lot less suspicious now.  “Incentive.”

“Incentive enough, I hope,” Loki said smoothly, “For you to forego the obvious opportunity to betray me.  If you send me to Thanos with a device that doesn’t work...”

“Not my style.”  Not after he’d seen those scars, anyway.  He hated to think he was feeling protective of _Loki_ though - and he definitely didn’t want _Loki_ to think that.  “If word got out that I made devices that don’t work,” he said instead, “My reputation would be shot.”

Loki huffed.  Relaxed a bit, now.  “I knew your vanity would be my biggest ally,” he smirked.  “And your greed.”

“Not greed.  Curiosity.”  Tony could already think of a hundred or two _demands_ to make on a magician from outer space.  “So I hope you don’t mind spending the next year as a lab rat - meaning an experimental subject, you know, not an actual literal rodent _-_ because that’s totally what I’m going to make you do.”

Loki inclined his head, almost a bow, which seemed to mean yes and Tony could hardly wait.

First things first though: arc reactor.  He wasn’t sure yet how they were going to test its scepter-defying powers since they didn’t have the scepter handy, but they’d done a lot of modeling when they _did_ have the scepter and especially with Loki’s help he could probably figure out what-

“Right.  Sorry,” he interrupted himself.  “I’m geeking out over this already.  Get me back home and I’ll get started.”

Suddenly they were standing on the streets of New York, the lingering taste of coffee Tony’s only indication that the meeting had even happened.  

Well, that and Loki himself, standing there looking serious and forbidding.  “You’ll tell no one that you’ve seen me.”

“No shit.”

“Good.  I have some other urgent matters to attend to, but I’ll return in a few days to see that work is underway.  Til then.”

He stepped back, but before he could beam up or teleport or whatever it was he did, Tony reached out and caught his sleeve.  “Here,” he said, and held out his pill bottle.  “For emergencies.  I’ve got plenty.  Scripts, not emergencies,” he added when Loki just stared.  “Though actually I have plenty of those too.” 

Loki pocketed it without a word and vanished.

“You’re welcome,” Tony said to the air.  “Jerk.”

* * *

**The End.**

**Heh, I should write more Tony & Loki.  They are fun together.**


	48. Chitauri Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lots of fics assume that Thanos and his merry men threatened and/or tortured Loki in order to get him to join in on the Chitauri Plan. Which sort of begs the question: why didn't Loki tell Thor something to that effect in Avengers and seek help in getting out of Thanos's clutches? In this ficlet, he and Thor talk that question out.

* * *

“Thor,” he said – from the floor, not bothering to greet him standing. It had been near half a year since his sentencing. “After all this time,  _now_ you come to visit me? Not a social call, I assume.”

Thor's jaw was tight – he wasn't pleased to be here. That could only mean one thing. “You need my help,” Loki guessed. All prepared to laugh and sneer and tell him to go fuck himself.

But Thor snorted. “After how well you helped the Chitauri? No thank you. I'm here on Mother's behalf; she asked me to pass a message.”

“The Chitauri?” That insult offended him so badly he couldn't turn his attention to a message from Frigga just yet. “Do you really think so little of me as a tactician, brother? You actually think I meant that plan to _help_ them?”

Thor blinked... then laughed aloud. “Oh, I'm to understand that your spectacular failure was _deliberate_? That you weren’t in fact a failure at all.” He shook his head. “Really, brother. Even _I_ won't fall for that one.”

To be mocked about it, unjustly, was too much. “The plan did _exactly_ what it was meant to,” he snarled – fingers scraping against the floor as his fist clenched up. “It got me rescued.”

Thor cocked his head in confusion – the remains of his smug stupid smile still hovering around his mouth. “Rescued? You're a prisoner.”

Loki blew dust off his fingertips and examined his nails. “Odin can release me or keep me in chains or cut off my fucking head,” he said, “And it will still be an improvement over what-.” _What they were doing to me._ But for some reason he couldn’t say it. He waved a gesture of dismissal to indicate that the visit was at an end. “Next time, just have Mother pass messages through one of the guards.”

* * *

It wasn’t hard to finish Loki’s sentence for him.  _An improvement over what they were doing to me._ Apparently Loki could not say it for himself – couldn’t even meet Thor’s eyes when he hinted at it.

It was that, more than anything, that gave Thor pause. Claiming to have acted under duress might be just a self-serving lie, but this… this felt real. How many times in childhood had he come upon Loki with a bloody nose and dirt in his hair, and when he demanded _what happened_ and _who did this to you_ Loki would wipe his cheeks angrily and insist _Nothing_ and _No one_ with his eyes fixed on the ground.

He paced his room restlessly. Surely Loki _knew_ that the insinuation would get Thor’s protective and brotherly instincts up. Surely that was his intention. This must all be just a trick.

And yet. If he were seeking sympathy Loki would have finished his thought, given Thor all the gory details, wept over all the evil he was forced to do. His refusal to even finish their conversation did not seem _calculated,_ but merely… stubborn. It seemed Loki.

But Loki was clever – he knew how to _seem_ like he was telling the truth when he was not.

Thor thought in circles for a while, but he couldn’t resolve the question on his own. And so he found himself standing outside Loki’s cell again, not two hours after he’d left.

“Brother. The Chitauri mistreated you?”

* * *

Had it taken the idiot  _two hours_ to work out the glaringly obvious insinuation?

“Did you figure that out all by yourself?” he purred. “I see people are wrong about you, brother – you’re not _nearly_ as dull as everyone thinks.”

“Enough, Loki. I only-”

“Yes,” he spat, and scrambled to his feet. He did not need to hear what Thor _only_ meant to do. The sooner he could get the conversation over with the better. He turned away; it was easier. “Yes I was _mistreated;_ I was subjected to months of sustained and brutal torture. Do you claim you didn’t know?”

There was a long silence, during which he fidgeted but couldn’t turn away from the wall.

Thor finally said: “This is the first I've heard anything of the kind.”

“You weren’t keeping tabs on it all along? Maybe passing them suggestions when I proved resistant?” (That last thing, he didn’t actually think. Not for a second. But it was the most hurtful accusation he could concoct on short notice, and he _did_ want to hurt.)

“Don't be absurd. Do you really-…” He could practically _hear_ Thor rehearsing and rejecting angry and defensive answers one after the other. What he finally said was, stiff and controlled: “I did not even know you were alive.”

_And you made such a careful search for me._ But he bit that back. Even more than fighting, he suddenly _wanted_ to believe Thor. He was amazed at how badly he wanted it. “Look me in the eyes,” he said, and made himself turn around. “Tell me you didn’t know what was happening to me.”

“Loki.” His brow was creased, his mouth tight and frowning. It _looked_ legitimate. “I had no idea you lived. Much less any- any knowledge of your activities.”

“Swear it.”

Thor blinked rapidly. (Perhaps no one had ever questioned his word before. Loki wanted to laugh. _Not much fun, is it, brother?_ ). “I swear I thought you dead and had no idea anyone was harming you,” he said steadily. Then his voice softened, until he sounded almost... wounded. “You must know I would have come for you, brother. If I’d had even the slightest hope that you were alive or the slightest suspicion that you needed me.”

“That’s what I thought at first.” He shrugged. “But eventually it became apparent that I was wrong, that nobody cared, so I gave up screaming for help.”

“Of course we would have cared! We didn’t know.”

“Odin did.” He said it quietly. “And Heimdall.”

Thor’s mouth opened several times but he didn’t say anything. The denial was palpable; he was only keeping silent because he didn’t want to provoke a tantrum that would spoil the first civil conversation they’d had since before the fall. But he was clearly groping for a polite formulation of _Brother I think you are mad_.

If it was proof he wanted… “I can feel their gaze,” Loki explained calmly. “I learned it ages ago, so that I can cloak from them. Think about it, Thor: they _told you_ that I was working for the Chitauri. How do you think they knew that? They had been watching for months. They probably knew I was going to capitulate even before I did.” That was likely, actually. For a while he had told himself that he could hold firm – that he could die rather than cooperate with the creatures. But Odin had surely suspected from the start that he would not be strong enough.

“But-.” Thor was frowning, clearly marshaling what passed for thought in that simple little brain of his. “But you led their armies. You seemed to command them. Are you saying they forced you?”

“No, I volunteered to lead the armies.” Loki paced; Thor's gaze irritated him and made it impossible to stand still. “I had finally accepted that no help was forthcoming, so I'd changed tactics. I thought that even if you wouldn't come to save _me,_ you might come to save Earth. And I was right, wasn't I.”

“I don't believe you!” Thor erupted suddenly. “You said nothing of this, of any of this, all the times we spoke! If you truly needed my help, you would have asked me to-”

“It wasn't your help I was after,” Loki interrupted. “Not anymore. I'd had my fill of begging into a void, you see; you clearly weren't interested in saving me and I could hardly blame you. I know what I am.” He looked away and explained the rest flatly. “What I was aiming for by the time you found me was to be put down, like a rabid animal. I thought I could provoke you to it – I'd intended to order the creatures to start butchering humans just to make sure.” He shrugged, with a small bitter smile. “But it turned out I couldn't do that. You were the one who used to boil anthills, remember – not me.”

All that was pathetic enough, but he did manage to keep the _most_ pathetic detail to himself: he'd daydreamed about dying so many times, about escaping all he'd done and all he'd endured, slipping away into warm welcoming darkness... and always in his fantasies it was in Thor's lap he expired, with Thor's arms around him and Thor's tears on his face. It depended on his mood whether Thor begged forgiveness or offered it, but either way, it was a sad childish dream of a reconciliation that would never, ever happen.

He waited to see what Thor would say.

In the end, all Thor came up with was: “No. That isn't true. Any of it.” But – bizarre after hearing so many centuries of certainty – for once it sounded like he did not really believe his own words.

* * *

The End.

Boo hoo! Let me know what you think.

 


	49. Scarlet Witch in Mourning

**A/N:  This is loki-centric but doesn’t contain Loki.  If I continue it, however, the next part definitely would.  Takes place post-AOU.  Scarlet Witch is mourning.**

**(I probably have the timeline of the Convergence and the Ultron thing wrong.  If I do, sorry.)**

* * *

It was the middle of the night, and the witch was outdoors again.  Standing on the terrace of the tower, watching the city lights, her hair billowing out behind her.

Thus far she had rejected all attempts at comfort, but there was one thing that no one had yet said.  No one else had yet been _able_ to say it, but Thor could, and now that they were alone it was time.  Perhaps it would help.

He slid the glass doors open and stepped outside.  “My lady.  May I join you?”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder.  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

He came and stood beside her.  Looked out at the skyline Loki had tried to destroy.  “I know what you are feeling, for I too have lost a brother.”  No answer.  “His name was Loki.  You may have heard of him, heard terrible things, but once I loved him.  And I grieved for him, just as you’re grieving now.”

She turned away from the railing to face him.  “Loki?  Your brother?”  A small smile played around her mouth, and Thor tried to ignore that but then she _laughed_.  That was too much.

“So you _have_ heard of him.”  Stiff but controlled.  “Then know that Loki was more than his recent madness, my lady.  He stood by me for many years, suffering me when I was insufferable.  And now he is dead - for me.  I won’t hear ill spoken of him.”

She waved the admonishment away.  “I don’t mean to speak ill.  I just-... I didn’t know he was your family.  When he thought of you, his mind was a fierce storm of... of old love, twisted by hate and jealousy.  I thought you were lovers.”

Thor didn’t understand.  “You knew Loki?”

“Of course.  Who else could help our trainers work with the scepter?  Work with us?  I liked Loki.”  She shrugged.  “The last few weeks have been duller without him.”

“Did you not keep time in that place?  Loki has been dead for six months.”  Thor was acutely aware of it.  Chasing the scepter to and fro had been a distraction, and his new friends had been a consolation, but it would never be enough.

The witch girl blinked.  “No.  He was with me every week until one and a half months ago,” she said with certainty.  Then her eyes blazed red, and an unkind smile lifted her lips.  “You didn’t know.  That battle over the Convergence - you thought he died in it.  He said he played a trick on you.  I didn’t realize-...”  Her face twisted.  “Anyway.  Your brother is not dead.  He went off on some adventure somewhere - he didn’t say where - and he’s probably alive and well.  So you have nothing to say to me after all.”

He ordered himself to put the girl’s distress first.  “Be that as it may,” he insisted, “I know your pain.  I saw my brother die before my eyes, not once but twice, and the grief I felt darkened my heart forever.  I want to help you.”

She ignored him.  “I’ll show you everything I know - it’s not much - and you can rush off to try and find him.”   She raised her hands to his head, eyes gleaming, and he shuddered as the noxious scarlet mist swirled around him.  “But I warn you: I think he’ll care as little about your pain as you do about mine.”

Lying to her would be futile, so he didn’t bother.

* * *

 

**The End?**

**I dunno.  I could continue this one potentially.  Not sure.**


	50. Great Power

**A/N:  Little tidbit that takes place a while after Civil War, in the Avengers tower in NYC.**

**I have Spidey as 16 years old.  Not sure if that’s right?**

* * *

When Tony turned from the liquor shelf, bottle in hand, Loki was right behind him.   His heart leaped to his throat, his muscles spasmed, and the bottle slid from his hand.

The creep had the decency to catch it with magic, though, and return it to the shelf with a gesture.  “Apologies – I startled you.”

No shit.  “Dude!”  He went to his wrist controller and keyed the cameras off.  “I told you to call first.  _Uneasy_ truce, remember?   _Un_ easy.  You can’t just show up here like we’re bros.  We are absolutely not bros.”

“Unfortunately I have a need and it’s urgent.  Is it safe to talk here?”

“What?  Yeah, sure, everybody’s out.  I’m alone today-”  At _exactly_ that moment, too-fast steps pattered down the hallway and he remembered: “-…Except for Parker.”  Before he could ask Loki to disappear for a second, the kid skidded around the corner.

“Oh – hey – sorry, Mr. Stark, I didn’t know anybody else was over.”  Before Tony could make some sort of introduction to smooth things over, he went on: “Hi, I’m Peter.”

Loki’s lip curled.  “A servant?  No.  Captain America’s son?”

“No.  I’m Spiderman!”  The kid had balls at least.

“I see.  That’s very nice.”  Loki ignored him.  “Stark, I need help.  Thor-”

“And I know who _you_ are.  Even without that crazy helmet.  Whoa.”   Parker was coming closer, but he really needed to work on his threatening walk.  Loki waved him off again without even looking. 

“That’s nice as well.  Stark: Thor’s in trouble.  It’s going to be all right, I think,” he assured fast, “but his idiot friends are one participant short for their rescue plan.”

Parker had moved decidedly into their personal space now, acting for all the world like he’d been invited to the damn conversation.  “Rescue plan?”

Tony paid him no more attention than Loki had.  “Shouldn't it be _beneath you_ to ask help from mere earthlings?  Why can't you clean up your own mess?”

Loki shook his head.  “Because the king of Asgard can’t be seen chopping his way through Vanaheim; that’s how wars are started.  I need a human.  In case it goes wrong, it’s got to look like a group of Thor’s friends acting without authority.”  The response was clearly rehearsed, but that didn’t mean it was a lie.

“Okay,” Tony decided.  (It had been too damn long since he'd suited up without worrying about red tape.  Vanaheim, whatever that was, would be outside the jurisdiction of the U.N.).  “What do you need?  I can do it, as long as-”

“You can’t.”  Loki was curt.  “We aren’t involving Heimdall; the only way I can transport you is dragging you through the ether myself.  I won’t be able to bring along weapons or armor or frankly even clothes.  So I hope Captain Rogers doesn’t mind fighting naked.”

He blinked.  “Seriously?”

Loki rolled his eyes.  “I can dress and arm him once we get there, obviously.  I can even conjure him something that will approximate the weight of his shield.  But yes, I seriously cannot transport your suit in this fashion.  Rogers is near enough to an Asgardian in his strength and quality of fighting that he’ll be of use to them.  You wouldn’t.”

“Hey-!”  the kid chimed in.

 _Shit._ He raised his voice and snapped “Park yourself, Parker!”, but it was too late.

“What about me?  I can help – and then I get to meet Thor!  Let me come!”         

 “You?”  Loki glanced to him for just a second – sizing him up.  “What are _you_ going to do – gawk them to death?  I want Rogers.   Where is he?”

Without any warning Parker shut him up – with a burst of web across the face.

It took Loki half a beat to realize what had happened, and when he did he lost his shit.  He clawed at the web frantically and then slashed through it with a glint of silver (a knife?  Where had the knife come from, and what kind of knife could cut through Parker’s web so easily?).  He started to glow.  Like, actually giving off light, wind whipping around him… shit, shit, shit.   _Gathering up power._

Almost before Tony finished the thought he was shoving the kid behind him, glove on, ready to blast with it.  He’d read enough Freaky Loki Stories to have a good guess what the problem was.  (Was it true he’d somehow given birth to a magic horse once?   Somehow Tony had never quite gotten the nerve up to ask Thor.).  “No no no!  Loki cool it, come on – he’s a kid, cool it, he didn’t know.”

Loki calmed down visibly.  As the light faded from him he held up his hands, harmless.  “Of course.  My apologies.”

Tony deactivated the glove and watched it fold back into his watch, trying to restart his breathing.  From behind him Parker said: “Hey… I’m sorry.”

The kid sounded completely lost and who could blame him.  “Mm.  Guy’s got history,” Tony explained – casual, not rocking any boats.  “You shouldn't try to gag him.”

“Sure, okay.”  Parker cleared his throat.  “Mr. Loki, I’m _really_ sorry.  I didn’t-”

“Just _Loki_.  No mister.  It’s all right.”  Loki was smiling now.  Smooth and friendly – too friendly.  “That is a fascinating ability you have.  Show me more.”

The tone boded no good.  “Oh, no you don’t.  Spidey is a sixteen-year-old noob, he is _not_ going with-”

“Hey!  Don’t call me a noob!”

“What’s a noob?” Loki frowned.  “I told you, I really want a human for this.”

* * *

The boy was brave and not too stupid, and Loki decided before long that with his projectile binding powers he’d suit the project much better than Steve Rogers anyway.  It took some time to provide assurances that Stark deemed adequate, but eventually he managed to talk the boy into his possession.

The boy was quiet until they reached Asgard.  Then, looking up at the unfamiliar brilliance of the Asgardian sky, he said: “You brought those aliens to attack earth.”

Loki turned to him, arching eyebrows.  “Do you really want to think of me as your enemy right now?”  He watched the boy’s eyes move, taking in his surroundings.  “Come.”

The boy followed him, but before long spoke up again.  “I just… want to understand.”

That was more than anyone else seemed to want, but nevertheless he preferred not to talk about the failed New York Initiative.  He just shrugged.

“I mean, you seem like an okay guy…”

“I’m flattered,” he said, dry.  But the truth was he really _did_ feel a bit gratified; _okay guy_ was one of the more generous characterization he’d heard in recent years.  “There was some coercion and some mind control,” he said shortly.  “Not enough to excuse what I did, but enough, I think, to make it understandable.  We don’t have time to discuss it now.” 

“Sure, okay.  I get it.”  The boy hurried to keep pace with him as he swept away faster.  “So, um, tell me about Thor’s friends.”

“They’re idiots with heads full of rocks, and they won’t like you because you’re small and you look weak to the naked eye.”  He stopped and faced the boy square.  “You have my permission to show them otherwise.  Shoot your wad all over them and make an impression.”

He’d expected the boy to laugh at the vulgarity of what he’d said; Stark would have.  But the boy stood wide-eyed and silent – shocked.   Hm.  “How old are you?” he asked.  “Not in numbers; I know you’re sixteen.  But I forget the human life cycle.  Is sixteen a child?”

“No – _no_!” the boy sputtered.   Almost squeaking.  “Sixteen’s not- it’s, I’m not a child.  Sixteen is a, a young man.  It’s, uh, it’s when you grow up and make your-”

“Understood.  I know your age.”  _Child.  No more crudity, and be sure he gets home alive._   “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

* * *

The End.

Not planning to continue this one, I think.  I just liked little Spidey and wanted to write a scene with him.


End file.
